


A Matter of Trust

by indevan



Series: A Matter of Trust [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:02:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 166,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two city elves, two Dalish elves, and an elven mage have to save all of Thedas from the Blight.  Somewhere there was a punchline but it got lost along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really like the idea of multiple origins all being Wardens together and elf Wardens are my particular favorites. And so this happened.

The young elf handed her the shirt and smiled, her eyes bright.  She was already dressed finely in a linen gown and gold jewelry.  The jewelry was a little tarnished, though, which led Maeve to believe that it was the sort of jewelry that was held tightly by her family, its sentimental significance outweighing what they would get for them.  Then again, she heard that the Alienage in Highever was much nicer than the one in Denerim so maybe they wouldn’t have to sell.  Nelaros had told her as much, though.  The Couslands, he’d said, kept it much nicer than the Kendalls.

Maeve’s thoughts momentarily went to her husband.  They didn’t love each other but they worked, she thought.  They worked and she was doing her part for their community.  That was how she saw it.

She thanked the girl--Nesiara, she’d said--and nodded good-bye before making the walk to her Uncle Cyrion’s house.  She kept the shirt folded between her crossed arms.  She made it to the door just as Shianni was leaving.

“Hello, Cousin,” she said sunnily, raising her arm in a wave.  Maeve could tell by the way her eyes gleamed that she was already tipsy.

“How is he?”

“Cranky.  And hungover and bratty.” She pulled a face. “He doesn’t want to get married.  Is that his shirt?”

Maeve nodded and lifted her arms a little.

“It looks a little big,” Shianni observed.

“Well, all of his clothes are a little big,”

“That’s true...Uncle Cyrion is talking to him now, I think.  But you can go on in.”

“Thanks, Shianni.”

She moved past the redhead and entered the small house where her uncle and cousin lived.  As usual, it smelled as though something was cooking but she didn’t have to look at their little stove to know that it was empty.  Somehow, the house always smelled like someone was cooking even when no one was.  Cyrion and Devyn were by their small, rough-hewn table and it seemed as though she came in on the tail end of their conversation.

“You still have your mother’s smart mouth, I see.”

Devyn shrugged helplessly as though he was entirely innocent and Maeve shook her head in silent laughter.  She closed their door behind her and the sound made both turn to her.

“Ah, Maeve.  Perhaps you can talk some sense into my stubborn little son.”

“Papa...”

Cyrion chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll see you in the square, Devyn.”

“Papa!  I wasn’t--”

“Don’t leave him alone for too long, Maeve.”

Cyrone pushed past her and left the house.  Devyn sighed and walked back to his bed.  He plopped down with a sigh.  Maeve came to stand over him, still holding the shirt.

“I have your wedding shirt.  Nesiara made it by hand.”

She unfolded it from her arms and held it up.  True enough, it did look too big for Devyn but there was a certain expertise in the stitchwork that she had to admire.  Her own stitching on Nelaros’s shirt had been uneven and unfinished.  Devyn’s shirt was of white linen and stitched with purple flowers.

“Look, the flowers match your eyes.”

“Great.”

Maeve let a smile twist on her lips.

“I’ll pretend that’s the hangover talking.”

He made a face and she had to laugh.  Devyn was always the cousin with whom she was closest.  Though Soris was a half year younger, Devyn was always seen as the youngest due to his small, bony stature.

“Are those your new trousers?”

Devyn brushed his hands over the fine wool trousers that were laced tightly to stay on his skinny waist.

“They cost three sovereigns,” he said with distaste. “And I’m only gonna wear them once.”

Maeve shrugged as she spread his wedding shirt out on the bed.  Nesiara had even capped the ends of the laces with what looked like hammered gold.

“Well, you can wear them to the next wedding or maybe there will be some other fancy party you can wear them to.”

Another shrug.  He lifted his hands to his temples and rubbed them with the tips of his fingers.  Maeve noticed the gesture and shook her head, smiling.

“That’s what you get for getting drunk with Soris last night.”

He made a face again and crossed his arms over his bare chest.

“It doesn’t matter.  I’m not getting married.”

Devyn had been saying this since Uncle Cyrion had begun arranging the match for him.  Maeve sat next to him on the bed and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

“You understand why marriage is important, don’t you?”

He pouted and it made him look far younger than his seventeen years--an impressive feat since Devyn could easily pass for twelve on his best days when he wasn’t pouting.

“It isn’t that I...it isn’t just that I don’t want to get married.  It’s that I’ll never be able to make her happy.”

“Why?  You’re a good person, Devyn.  You’re kind and sweet and you care about other people.  I think you would make Nesiara very happy.”

“I don’t mean that...” He let out a heavy sigh. “I mean sex, cousin.”

“Oh.”

Devyn pulled his knees up and locked his arms around them.  Maeve gave his shoulders a squeeze.

“Oh, Devling.”

“Yeah.  I mean...I guess if she wants, I can...do my husband duties or whatever but...”

Maeve read the expression on his face.

“You’ll go out looking for men?” she asked.

Devyn nodded, his face miserable.

“What if she’s not okay with that?  What if she’s not okay with me at all?”

She kissed the side of his hair and said, “One thing at a time.  Just concentrate on getting married for now, alright?”

He sighed and nodded, his pointed chin hitting the tops of his knees in a way that looked painful.

“And speaking of which...let’s see how that shirt looks on you, hmmm?”

“Must I?”

“Yes.”

He reluctantly got to his feet and pulled the shirt over his head.

“Well?” he asked, holding his arms out.

Maeve looked at how his small form was completely swallowed by the shirt and pursed her lips in consternation.

“Let’s...find you a belt, cousin.”

“Molly Androlly, do you think?”

Devyn flapped his arms up and down and the sleeves moved like wings.  Maeve went to Devyn’s meager collection of clothing to find a suitable belt.

“Why didn’t Uncle Cyrion send Nesiara’s family your measurements?” she wondered.

“Because then they’d know that I have the same height and proportions as a child?”

“You’re not that small.”

Finally, she managed to find a belt that looked as though it had been made of leather once.  It didn’t match the finery of his other garments but it would keep him from drowning in his shirt.  She cinched it around his waist, tightening it as far as it would go.

“There.  It’s...a look.”

Devyn flapped his arms again and then dropped them helplessly at his sides.  Maeve couldn’t believe how Maker-damned young he looked.  A memory swam suddenly and without any other provocation to her mind.  It was some time in winter...Devyn had to only be five, yes.  It was the first winter after Adaia died.  Soris’s mother, her Aunt Chelis, had been coughing steadily and would not live to see the season out.  

They had all been eating at Uncle Cyrion’s.  Aunt Chelis was at home, too weak to even knit the scarves she gave the children every winter.  Shianni was bossing Soris around, telling him not to wiggle so much in his seat.  Uncle Cyrion was saying how he was going to be paid twenty extra silver a week at the Bann’s house where he was a servant and, to celebrate, he had bought Devyn a new book of horror stories.  It was an indulgence but Maeve could see why he gave in.  The look on Devyn’s little face as he eagerly turned the pages of his present was reason enough.  The more vivid memory than that, though, was of her own actions that night.  As they ate the meager but delicious broth her uncle had prepared, Maeve had slipped some of her cabbage hearts and bits of bacon into the bowls that belonged to her cousins, knowing they needed it more than her.

“Come, cousin.” She held her hand out to him. “For better or worse, you are getting married today.  So why not get it over with and get to celebrating?”

Devyn hesitated, a defiant look still marring his scarred face, and then something in him must have finally relented because he reached out and took her hand.

\--

Devyn dragged his feet as he walked behind his eldest cousin, though that title often felt wrong.  Maeve was more like his overbearing sister than a cousin.  Shianni never doted on him like this but, then again, they were far closer in age.  Soris didn’t either but Devyn was older than him anyhow and so he didn’t count.

Maeve stopped him near the Vhenandahl and turned abruptly.  She put her hand around his chin, pressing his cheeks together between her fingers and thumb so his lips pooched out.

“Find Soris and then get to the platform by the Hahren’s house,” she said, sounding so sisterly again.

He tried to tell her that he could just escape with Soris but her hold on his mouth prevented him from speaking.  Plus, he knew that if anyone was going to hunt him down and drag him back to the alienage kicking and screaming, it was cousin Maeve.  He nodded, moving her hand along with the gesture, and pulled away.

“I got it.”

He pounded his chest like he had seen the guards do so to acquiesce to an order their lord gave them but kept his expression mocking.  Maeve rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion with her hand.  Devyn turned round and darted past the Vhenandahl.

He wove in and out of people, ducking by and trying not to garner any more notice than usual.  The community area was surprisingly crowded, he thought.  It couldn’t just be for his and Soris’s wedding.  People said congratulations to him as he snuck by, attempting to pick out his cousin’s morose face in the crowd.

Finally, he spotted him leaning miserably against a tree.  Soris was already dressed in his wedding shirt.  His fit better than Devyn’s did but that was about the only nice thing that could be said about it.  Orange thread half-heartedly formed what were maybe suns...or perhaps flames on the off-white fabric.

“Nice shirt.”

“At least it fits.”

Soris eased off the tree and ruffled some of his own reddish brown hair with one hand.

“Are you ready to get married, cousin?”

Devyn scowled and kicked a loose stone with his mother’s boots.  They were a faded brown and did not match the rest of his clothes but he wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“Not a chance.”

“Why are you complaining?  From what I hear, your father found you some kind of goddess.  Meanwhile I just got whoever Valendrian could find.”

He didn’t bother to point out that the apparent or evident beauty of his fiancée meant nothing to him.

“I’m sure she’s nice,” he tried. “Anyone who’d agree to marry you has got to be holier than Andraste Herself.”

“Haha.”

“Maybe on your wedding night, you can ask her to connect your freckles using her tongue...”

Soris went bright red with embarrassment.  Gunnar, a longtime friend of theirs, was a companion at the Pearl and had once overheard Soris giving that very request to another companion.  He told Devyn in confidence but it didn’t take long for everyone in their age group to catch on and mock Soris for all of eternity for it.

“And what are you going to do?  Bore her by incessantly talking about werewolves?”

It was a weak comeback but Devyn gave it to him.  After all, it was Soris’s last day of freedom as well.  His cousin sighed and once again ruffled his own hair--a nervous gesture.

“Let’s just get it over with.”

“We can still run.”

Soris snorted a laugh. “And go where?  Find the Dalish?”

“It could...happen.”

“Dream on, cousin dear.  Let’s go--and, hey, if you can’t raise the staff for Nesiara, you can at least wow her with your cooking.”

He scowled and punched Soris on the arm, as hard as he dared.  His cousin still let out a yelp of pain and grabbed himself.

“Ow!”

“That’s what you get.”

They made their way towards Valendrian’s house or, more specifically, to the wooden platform erected next to it.  The last time Devyn had stood on that platform for a wedding had been Maeve’s.  He spotted her standing near Shianni and, when her eyes landed on him, her freckled face broke out in a wide smile.  He rolled his eyes at her display of exuberance.  She didn’t really think he was going to run, did she?

He was about to say as much to her when a big man came up behind Nola, one of the bridesmaids, and grabbed her by the shoulders.  She let out a scream and pulled away, running to stand behind Shianni.  Devyn was surprised to see a human--three, in fact.  And all dressed in silk finery.  He scowled and clenched his fists.  Nobles.

“It’s a party, isn’t it?” the man who must have been the leader of the trio asked. “Everybody grab a whore and have a good time.”

Soris saw the scene as well and turned to him, a look of worry on his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Dev, but let’s just play this safe, alright?”

He nodded, as if considering his words.

“Objection noted--now get out of my way.”

Soris sighed in frustration and said, “Fine, but don’t hit first, alright?”

“I make no promises.”

Devyn began striding forward, nearly missing Soris mumbling, “That’s what I’m afraid of,” under his breath.

He got to the men just as their supposed leader smacked one of their own boys down for objecting to his grabbing of Nola.

“Hey!” Devyn snapped.

Maeve turned to look at him, eyes wide.

“Devling, don’t--” she started.

The human cut her off.  He swaggered over to where he and Soris stood and looked down his well-formed nose at them.  Devyn thought if he didn’t seem to drip slime from his pores or have that disgusting sneer on his face, he might have been attractive.

“Well, if it isn’t the two grooms.”

“I’ll give you until three to get lost, shemlen,” Devyn snapped in return.

His eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Oh-ho.  Get a load of this elf.”

“That’s right,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Get a load of who’s going to kick your sorry asses if you don’t leave.”

The man drew his face in close and said, “Do you really want to test me, knife-ear?”

Devyn tilted his face up and set his jaw. “I’d want nothing more.”

While he was speaking, Shianni slipped past the man and to where a jug of wine was waiting to be uncorked for the wedding reception.  Soris noticed the movement before Devyn did and shook his head.  Maeve did likewise.  Devyn saw it just as she lifted the bottle and smiled a little when it hit the man solidly in the back of the head.  He went down like a sack of flour.  One of his friends stepped forward, looking down at his fallen form.

“Do you know who that was?” he asked snidely. “That’s Vaughan Kendall, the Arl of Denerim’s son!”

Shianni’s eyes went wide and her hands gripped the jug tightly. “What?  Oh, Maker, no.”

Maeve stepped forward, hands out in a diplomatic gesture.

“Listen, we won’t say anything if you don’t.”

The third member of the party, just as slimy as the other two, glowered at her.

“This’ll go badly for your knife-ears.”

And, with that foreboding comment, they picked the unconscious form of Vaughan up and carried him away.  Shianni bit her lip nervously.

“Oh, Maker, what have I done?”

Soris held his hands up and said, “Well, it’ll be alright, won’t it?  He won’t tell anyone an elven woman knocked him out.”

“You think?”

“Definitely,” Devyn assured her.

Shianni put the jug back down where she got it and bit her lip again.

“I’m going to...get ready.”

She left, leaving them unsure what to do until a small, squeaky voice spoke up.

“Oh, hello.  You, uh, must be the grooms?”

Devyn turned to see a small, mousy girl standing before them.  Stiff, brown-blond hair was tucked behind her ears.  Parts of it were pulled back into an elaborate braid but strands were already breaking free of the no doubt carefully constructed hairstyle.  She wore a shift dress of yellow and orange with gold accents.  Her forehead was broad and her chin was narrow.  Her gaze was warm, though, if a bit apprehensive.

“Yes, that’s us,” Devyn said, maybe a little petulantly.

The girl smiled and said, “Oh, hello, then.  I’m Valora.  Um...which one of you is Soris?”

“M-me.”

Valora smiled at him kindly and bobbed a curtsy.

“It’s very nice to meet you.”

A little ways behind her stood an ethereally beautiful girl with long hair that moved like liquid gold as she strode towards them.  She was dressed in a beautiful gown and her features were at once soft and striking.

“Oh, uh, you must be Nesiara.”

She smiled and nodded.

“And you must be Devyn.”

Nesiara looked him over and he squirmed despite himself, knowing what she saw.  She saw a bony scrap of an elf in a too large shirt.  An elf with translucently pale skin and weirdly colored eyes half-hidden under a thatch of black hair and framed by pinkish scars.

“Your father’s matchmaker said you were attractive but I believe she may have understated it.”

“Huh?”

“Smooth,” Soris whispered.

Devyn kicked him in the shin.  Valora noticed the gesture and expertly took Soris by the arm and led him away before he could retaliate.

“Tell me about yourself,” she said sunnily.

They were only several paces away but Devyn realized that the movement was in order to give each groom alone time with their impending bride.  He put a smile on his face for Nesiara’s sake.

“So...” she began. “Today’s the big day.  Are you nervous?”

“More like nauseated,” he admitted.

“Oh, me, too.  The whole ride here from Highever, I felt sick to my stomach.  It’s let up some, though, since I’ve seen you.”

“Thanks, um...how was your trip?”

Devyn wasn’t particularly good at making small talk.  Talking in general gave him no problem, once he got on a topic he liked but bringing up ghosts and what they Chantry was or was not admitting about them was probably not a good way to break the ice with his future wife.

“It was nice.  The weather held and our caravan wasn’t attacked at all.”

“That’s great.  So...marriage, huh?”

“Yes.” Nesiara laughed. “I sometimes felt that...maybe it wasn’t for me.  Maybe I should just go into business or help out the Alienage but I think I can do both.”

He nodded and then blurted out, “Oh, I definitely don’t want to get married.”

Her smile faded. “What?”

“Oh!  No, I mean, it’s nothing against you, I.  Just.  Don’t want to get married ever.  To a woman.  Uh, that is...I am--”

Soris leapt in, seizing his arm.

“Hey, Devyn.  Let’s let them get ready, huh?”

“Right.”

He smiled thinly at Nesiara who looked at him in confusion.  Soris turned round, shaking his head.  Before he could comment on Devyn’s asinine comments, someone beat him to the whole “scolding” thing.  Cousin Maeve seized him by one arm and hauled him away from both brides.

“What were you thinking?  Challenging Vaughan like that!”

He shrugged and said, “To be fair, when I was threatening him, I didn’t know he was Vaughan.”

Maeve let out an exasperated sigh and turned her eyes skyward as if begging the Maker Himself for help.

“Devyn, what do you think would happen if you actually fought him?”

“I would pound him into the dirt, obviously.”

Soris laughed and then immediately covered his mouth.  The laugh wasn’t mocking but one at the mental image--possibly of Vaughan’s face--as tiny little Devyn beat the slime out of him.  He was easily the smallest in his family if not the entire Alienage (barring children, of course) but he had always been incredibly strong.

“And then what?  You’d get arrested for fighting.  You’d...this family can’t have that again!”

He winced and lowered his head in shame.  That comment hit him squarely in the chest.  Had it been a blow, he’d have been knocked right on his arse.  Maeve was right.  These sort of actions were how his mother got killed.

“Still, I couldn’t do nothing!”

That got a smile to ghost over Maeve’s face and she reached out to cup his cheek.

“I know, Devling.  Just...think, sometimes.  Before you act.”

At that, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“I didn’t see papa scolding me like this.”

“I told him I would.”

“Of course.” He made a face.

Maeve tweaked his nose and said, “Don’t make that face, Devyn, or it’ll stay that way.”

“Yeah,” Soris added, “and you and Nesiara have already hit it off so well, too.”

He groaned.  Right.  He had forgotten how he had been a total arse to his betrothed.  It wasn’t her fault that he only was attracted to men or that he had no desire to get married at all.  Soris turned around, laughing, but the sound caught in his throat.

“Uh-oh.  More trouble.”

“You mean other than me being a jackass to Nesiara and almost getting arrested?”

“Is Vaughan back?” Maeve asked.

Soris shook his head and pointed by the north gate.

“Another human is here.  And he’s armed.”

Devyn followed his finger with his eyes and saw a man standing with his hands kept behind his back.  He was dressed in a white robe with a hammered breastplate and stood off by himself.  He was tall, Devyn figured, not that he really had a good point of reference since elves were a fair bit shorter than humans.

“We should probably get him to leave,” Maeve said.

“He’s one human,” Devyn pointed out, “and he’s not starting shit like Vaughan.”

She shook her head. “Not him.  Us.  A lot of people are already drinking.  And, unlike Vaughan, he’s armed.”

“Oh.  Huh.”

“Come on.”

Maeve strode forward and he and Soris followed.  Soris was picking at a stray thread on his wedding shirt, looking nervous.  He didn’t like confrontation.  As they neared the human, Devyn saw that he wasn’t alone.  A young elf stood near him dressed in mage’s robes and carrying a staff.  She was maybe around his age and had black hair scraped back into a short horsetail.  Devyn was about to greet her but he saw the scowl on her face and decided against it.

“Oh, hello,” the human said, taking the lead in introductions. “I believe congratulations are in order for you both, yes?”

That caught him off-guard.  Humans were very rarely nice to them--to him--without reason.  Even the humans who he took to bed seemed to stop being nice the moment they finished up.

“Ah, uh, thanks.  Thank you, serrah.”

Soris nodded his gratitude, his eyes wide with apprehension.  Maeve stepped forward, her hands out.

“We’re going to have to suggest you leave, though,” she said, “it’s for the best.”

“Oh?” The man raised his eyebrows. “I am sorry but I have no plans to leave.”

Devyn cracked his knuckles and Maeve put a hand over both of his.

“We’ll have to ask you why,” she said patiently. “Many of our kin are drinking and we wouldn’t want this to end badly.  For you or them.”

The elf girl with him snorted derisively and folded her arms over her chest.

“I think we can handle whatever it is you flat-ears throw at us,” she said in a surly voice.

“You what?” Devyn asked flatly.  He decided that he didn’t like her.

The man gave her a reprimanding look and said, “What she means is that we have no intention of leaving until our business is finished.”

“Fine,” Devyn said, glaring at the elf girl. “Can she just leave?”

The girl raised her hands and purple sparks of energy danced between her fingers.

“You really don’t want to go there, kid.”

“Kid?!”

Maeve put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“What are your intentions here?” she asked in a calm, patient voice.  Devyn knew she had learned to speak like that after years of wrangling the three of them while their parents were working.

The man didn’t get a chance to answer since Valendrian came up next to him, all smiles.

“Ah, Duncan, it is good to see you, my old friend.”

That surprised him.  Devyn had had no idea that the Hahren was friends with a human, especially one so formidable.

“Children--and Maeve--this is Duncan of the Grey Wardens.”

“Uh, sorry,” he said pitifully, “I didn’t know you were friends with our elder, serrah.”

“Or a Grey Warden,” Soris added.

The man Valendrian called Duncan smiled and held up a gauntleted hand to let him know that there were no hard feelings.

“I was hardly forthcoming.”

Devyn eyed the man now with renewed interest.  He had heard about the Grey Wardens.

“Are you recruiting?” he asked.

Duncan nodded and said, “Indeed I am.  There is a Darkspawn army gathering in the south and I need as many recruits as I can.”

Valendrian shook his head, the chimes at the end of the small plaits in his silver hair clinking together.

“Now, now, Duncan--this is a happy day for us.  Let us have a moment of levity before any and all seriousness.”

He reached up to clap him on the shoulder and left to head to the centre for the wedding.  Devyn shuddered at the thought.

“So...if you’re recruiting, there is someone I could suggest,” he said, grinning.

“Devyn, no.” Maeve, of course.

He was about to say that becoming a Grey Warden would get him out of his wedding but one look from his cousin and he decided that being quiet was probably his best course of action.  Besides, if that rude elf mage was a Warden as well, he wouldn’t want to spend a lot of time with her.

“Is she a Grey Warden?” Soris asked, as if reading his thoughts.

“Not yet,” she replied, glaring. “And she can speak for herself.”

“Oh...sorry.”

“I recruited Cassan from the Circle here in Ferelden,” Duncan explained.

Maeve glared at all three of them as if she were their mother but, when she spoke, she directed her words to Duncan.

“I’m surprised you’ve come to the Alienage to recruit.”

“Elves have always served in the Grey Wardens with distinction.  In fact, Garahel who ended the Fourth Blight was indeed an elf.” A small smile crossed Duncan’s face as he added, “In fact, I came here recruiting when I was first named second-in-command to the Wardens twenty years ago to recruit a young elf named Adaia Tabris.”

Devyn put a hand over his mouth.  His mother.

“She said no?”

“Your elder insisted that she stay and I didn’t press the matter.  She wasn’t too keen on going, either.  It was getting close to her own wedding.”

“That’s my mother,” he explained.

“Yes, I know.  You look like her.” Duncan smiled again and Devyn felt a warmth spread in his chest.  He hadn’t thought that he looked like either of his parents. “I hope that you make good use of the skills she taught you.”

He wondered how he knew that as well but Grey Wardens had a tendency to simply know things and so he left it at that.

“Now, I won’t keep you any longer.  Please, proceed with the wedding.”

Again, he wanted to press this Warden for more information, not just about the Wardens but about his mother.  He only had the vaguest memories of her before she was taken away when he was not even five yet.  Maeve was giving him her patiently impatient look, though, so he just bade Duncan farewell and trudged miserably towards the platform.

“It won’t be so bad,” Soris assured him.

“You’re doing your part for the community--both of you,” Maeve added.

Their words weren’t exactly comforting.  He mounted the steps and stood near Nesiara, who looked surprised to see him there.

“Oh, there you both are,” Valora said in a forcibly cheerful voice.

“Yes,” Nesiara agreed, her tone wry. “I thought you’d have run off.”

She was looking at Devyn as she spoke and he gulped guiltily.  He felt bad for her, having to be stuck with him.

“I’m here,” he said, a bit more harshly than he meant. “...Sorry.”

A sister from the Chantry was already present and she was standing near Valendrian.  Devyn let his eyes sweep out over the gathered crowd and his eyes landed on his father.  He caught his stare and smiled and he actually looked proud of him.  Devyn couldn’t help but smile at that.  Maybe he wasn’t keen on getting married but he was very keen on making his father happy.

The sister began speaking passages from the Chant and Devyn was maybe zoning out since the amount he cared about religion and the Chant when he wasn’t taking the Maker’s name in vain was about the same amount that he (usually) cared for what people thought of him.  He snapped back to attention, though, when he heard the footsteps.

Vaughan, it seemed, was back.  He had his two cronies with him as well as a small number of armored guards.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, laughing. “But, heh, you see...I’m having a party.  And we’re dreadfully low on female guests.”

He stepped forward and locked his hand around Nola’s wrist.  She shrieked.  The Sister glared at him.

“Excuse me, serrah.  This is a wedding!”

“If you want to dress your pets up and have a tea party, that’s your business.  But don’t pretend this is a real wedding.”

Devyn’s hands flexed at his sides.  He was itching to hit Vaughan right in his smarmy face.  Pets.  He’d show him pets.

“Go on.  Grab the ladies, boys.  Even that older one, there.  And that one who bottled me.”

“Step off, shemlen, before I gut you!”

The words had left his mouth before he thought them and Vaughan turned around, his eyes affixed on him.

“Oh, well if it isn’t the knife-eared runt who thought thinks he has any right to speak to me.”

“Devyn...no.”

He heard Maeve’s pleas behind him but paid them no heed.

“That’s right.  Get out now and leave the women alone.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll kill you.”

Vaughan glared down at him and Devyn glared right back.  He was so intent on glaring at him that he didn’t notice one of his friends coming up behind him until the fist hit in him the face and everything went dark.

\--

Maeve pressed her hands together and closed her eyes, taking in measured breaths.  Around her, the other women sat in some room in the Arl’s estate.  She wished she had paid attention as the guards and Vaughan’s friends had roughly dragged them into it.

“Cousin...” Shianni said, her expression mournful. “I’m sorry I got us into this.  If I hadn’t hit Vaughan--”

She cut her off with a shake of her head.

“He wanted to cause trouble and so he did.  You hitting him had nothing to do with it.  Now, we should instead concentrate on getting out of here.”

She looked around the room.  Shianni was a fairly competent fighter.  She had trained her cousins in secret after Aunt Adaia died.  Devyn had been the most adept to picking up the moves and skills but Shianni was a close second.  She wagered that Valora and Nesiara weren’t trained fighters and she knew that Nola was not.  Still, she figured she and Shianni could knock out a couple of guards at least.  Now if only she could get her hands on a blade.

The door opened and she cursed herself for not being more aware.  Five guards marched in.

“We’ve come to take you to the party, ladies.”

Nola got up from where she had been squatting and screamed quite loudly and quite suddenly.

“Please, just get away!”

The guard reacted with brutal efficiently.  In one smooth motion, the lead guard cut her across the middle.  Nola collapsed to the ground, convulsing in a puddle of her own blood.  Valora gasped and buried her face in Nesiara’s shoulder.  Maeve clenched her fists but could do nothing as the guards shuffled the other women out of the room.  She didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to lose anyone else.

“Now, come on.  You’re a bit long in the tooth compared to these others but I’m sure one of the lords will find you suitable.”

Maeve didn’t know if he was joking or not.

“Um...excuse me.  I’m looking for the party.”

She knew that voice.  The deep, raspy voice that sounded like it should belong to someone so much larger than its owner.  The remaining guards parted and she saw Devyn standing in the doorway, holding two longswords.  Over his shoulder, she spotted Soris clutching a crossbow with white-knuckled hands.

“How did you get in here, knife-ear?”

“My secret.  Cousin Maeve!  Here!”

He leaned down and slid the sword between the guards and within her reach.  Maeve bent down and scooped it up.  One of the two remaining guards looked at the three armed elves surrounding them.

“Oh, sod.”

Maeve swung at them, cutting one smoothly across the middle just as he had to poor Nola.  Devyn swung at the other one wildly and, though he seemed to have been aiming for the man’s gut, he instead slit his throat.  Soris knelt down by Nola, his hands over his mouth.

“Oh no,” he whispered, staring at her prone body.

“I wanna kill Vaughan three or four times,” Devyn said angrily.

He dropped the sword he had and Soris picked it up, happily shouldering the crossbow.  Devyn knelt by one of the fallen guards and snatched up his greatsword.  He was always better with two-handed weapons.  He held it in front of himself experimentally and Maeve was reminded of Devyn at eight years old hefting the heavy wooden pole they practiced with in both hands easily.  She smiled a little.

“Grab his shield, cousin,” Soris said, pointing at the other dead guard.

She nodded and took the metal thing and slid it into her arm.  It was heavier than her wooden ones by a longshot but it seemed far more durable as well.

“We have to find where he took the others,” Maeve said resolutely.

Devyn nodded, eyes wide.

“We won’t be able to get by the other guards,” Soris pointed out. “I mean...we’re kind of covered in blood.  And armed.”

Maeve lifted her shielded arm and said, “Then we fight our way through.”

\--

Soris couldn’t stop crying on the way back to the Alienage.  Maeve could hear him sniffling in the back, wiping his eyes with his bloodied sleeve.  At the gates, Nesiara and Valora took Shianni straight to Cyrion’s house.  Maeve waited with Devyn and Soris, fearing the worst.  Vaughan was dead.  His friends were dead.  They carved their way through the entire estate to get to him.  At best, they would be imprisoned for life.

Just inside the gate, Valendrian was waiting with that Grey Warden, Duncan, and his surly little recruit.  Soris soberly informed them that Nola didn’t make it.

“The garrison should be here soon,” Valendrian said.  The usual warmth in his eyes was gone and his mouth was tight at the corners.

Sure enough, soon as the words left his mouth, a group of armed guards came plowing through the gate.  Maeve took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back.  She was ready to face her fate.

A mustachioed man stepped forward.  His armor was slightly nicer than his compatriots so Maeve figured him to be the captain.

“The Arl’s son lies dead and a river of blood runs through the castle.  I demand answers and I demand them now.”

He had to have rehearsed that little speech on the way over.  Maeve nearly smirked.

“I did it.”

She was caught off-guard with her own mirth and didn’t hear the raspy voice speak up.  She turned and saw Devyn had stepped forward.  He held his bloody hands out with the wrists pressed together as if asking for manacles.

“You expect me to believe one elf did all of this?” the captain asked incredulously.

Devyn stared at him defiantly, chin jutted out.

“We’re not all so helpless, captain.” Surprisingly, the words came from Valendrian.

“Me too.”

Maeve hadn’t thought before she spoke but knew the moment she said them that she meant it.  She was never going to let her baby cousin take the fall for everything.

“We thank you for confessing,” he said slowly, looking between them both. “I don’t envy your fates, but I do commend you for coming forward.”

Duncan stepped forward and lifted a hand to cut off the captain.

“Captain, if I may.” He looked at them and Maeve detected a twinkle in his dark eyes and a smile only slightly hidden by his impressive beard. “I hereby conscript both of these elves into the Grey Wardens.”

“What?” Maeve and Devyn asked at the same time in the same, flat voice.

The guard captain seemed similarly confused by what Duncan said, as did the elf mage.

“What?!  Them?  Him?!”

Devyn seemed to have recovered from the initial shock because he stuck his tongue out at her.  The captain looked at his garrison and then at Duncan and let out a sigh.

“Fine.  But get these elves out of the city--tonight.”

Duncan nodded and opened his hands to the man. “I agree.”

In practiced unison, the guard turned on their heels and left.  Maeve watched them leave and let out a breath of relief.

“Thank you,” she said, eyes on Duncan, “but now that they’ve gone, you don’t have to recruit us.  We can just leave.”

He smiled that same smile he had before telling the guard that he was conscripting them.

“I meant what I said.  I heard about your martial training and think that you and your cousin would both make fine Wardens.”

“Seriously?” Devyn asked, eyes wide.

“Seriously.” Duncan’s smile faded. “Say your good-byes.  We leave immediately.”

\--

Devyn lingered outside his house where his father was waiting for him.

“Papa...” he began, stared down at his mother’s boots.  There was a spot of blood on the left toe and he hoped it wouldn’t stain.

“Devyn, look at me.”

He lifted his head to meet his father’s gaze.

“I’m sorry, papa...I...”

“Sorry for what?  For defending your family?  For keeping everyone safe?” His father smiled ruefully. “This isn’t the life I wanted for you, my son.  I wanted you to have a peaceful life...and maybe give me some grandchildren eventually.  But if this is what the Maker has chosen for you, I will accept it...I just wish it wasn’t so.”

“Me neither,” he blurted.

At that, his father laughed and pulled him into a fierce hug.  Devyn hugged him back, fearing that this would be the last time he would ever see him.

“I love you.  Please...please stay safe.”

“I’ll try, Papa.”

His father let him go and took one last look at him.  There was a smile on his face but different from the one he wore earlier.  Devyn couldn’t quite place it.

“Go see Shianni,” he said. “Say good-bye.  And to Nesiara as well.”

He nodded. “Right, yeah.”

\--

It was sundown when all the farewells were said and their belongings packed.  Maeve gave the alienage one last look over her shoulder as she and Devyn followed Duncan through the gates and into the city proper.

“Where are we doing?” Devyn asked, trotting to keep up with the long strides Duncan made.

“Ostagar, to the south.  We were going to pass through the Brecilian Forest but we’re to take another path through a different wood to reach the ruins.  It is much faster.”

“Good,” Cassan, the surly elf mage, said snottily. “The faster the better.”

“And that’s where the Darkspawn army is assembling?” he asked.

A nod from Duncan. “Yes.  I’ve already sent word to the Wardens present that I am returning with three recruits.  When you arrive, you will have to seek out Alistair, the junior member of the order.  He will assist you in the first part of the Joining.”

“What’s that?”

“Stop asking questions!” Cassan snapped.

Maeve glared at her. “Don’t speak to my cousin that way!”

Duncan ignored them both and simply answered Devyn’s question.

“The Joining is what makes you a Grey Warden.”

“Oh.”

He paused and looked at the sun as it set behind the Chantry as they passed it.  Maeve was surprised that they had reached it so quickly.  They were almost out of the north exit of the city.

“Duncan...will we...ever get to see our family again?”

Duncan didn’t answer at first and didn’t look him in the eye.  Before he had been answering his questions with kind smiles but now his face was remote.

“I do not know.”

That seemed to discourage him.  Devyn let his shoulders slump forward and Maeve was afraid that the sword he had strapped over his back was going to overbalance him and make him topple over.  Maeve came up next to him and put her arm around his shoulder.

“We’ll get back to them somehow,” she stated firmly. “I promise you that.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

There was tree cover in the woods but the bright afternoon sun still managed to beat down on them.  The air was growing cold but the sun was hot, and it created a rather annoying juxtaposition for the four travelers as they made their way through the forest.  Maeve looked at Devyn walking next to her and frowned.  The apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears and nose were already pinkening.

“Cousin, stop for a moment.”

Devyn skidded to a stop and stared down at his feet as though expecting to see a snake slither over his path.  When all he saw was brush, he looked up at her in confusion.

“What?”

Maeve opened her own pack since she knew Devyn would never bring it himself.  She extracted the small jar and unscrewed the lid.  At the sight of it, he made a face.

“Maeve, no.  Maeve...”

She dipped her fingers into the jar.

“Maeve, I don’t need it!”

There was a good amount of salve on her fingers, now, so Maeve started rubbing it on Devyn’s cheeks and over his ears.  He wriggled with distaste.

“Stop!  You’re embarrassing me in front of Duncan!”

She shook her head and said, “You’re embarrassing yourself, Devyn.  Now hold still.”

Duncan and Cassan stared on in quiet bemusement.  Well, Duncan stared on in quiet bemusement.

“Aw, is the little baby getting burned?” Cassan cooed.  She ended her statement with a loud laugh.

“He has sensitive skin,” Maeve explained.

She rubbed the salve down his neck and the parts of his shoulders exposed above the collar of his shirt.  The salve was made for Uncle Cyrion for free by the healer they kept hidden from the Templars.  Ever since he was little, he burned easily in the sun.

“Maeve!”

Her job down, she wiped her hand on her skirt and put the lid back on the jar.

“You’ll thank me later when you aren’t burnt to a crisp, Devyn.”

He glowered at her.  Cassan was still laughing.

“I thought you were seventeen, not seven.”

“Bite me, Surana.”

Despite her own doting leading to this most recent fight, Maeve couldn’t help but hope that the rest of the Grey Wardens would be adults rather than teenagers.  Duncan was chuckling behind his gauntleted hand and Maeve wondered if he was secretly as bad as these children.  She banished the thought from her mind and shook her head.

The chuckle died in Duncan’s throat and he lifted his head suddenly.

“That is...odd.”

Maeve stepped abreast to him and tilted her face to look at him.  She saw him only in profile and was a bit astounded at how formidable he looked.  She hadn’t time previously to notice it but Duncan was quite impressive to behold.

“What is?” she asked.

“I can...almost sense Darkspawn.  Or something similar.  It’s hard to tell.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not.”

“Should we stay back?”

She was thinking about Devyn.  Duncan shook his head.

“Follow me but keep a distance.  None of you have encountered Darkspawn before.”

Maeve nodded her agreement and glanced back at her cousin.  Duncan noticed the look.

“I do not mean to intrude into family matters but your cousin seems able to handle himself in combat.”

She sighed. “I know that but...I am very protective of Devyn.  Always have been.”

“I understand.  There is one who I am quite protective of as well.”

Duncan said no more and Maeve opted not to press.  There was still the situation at hand.  The four of them began moving forward with Duncan at the lead.  Maeve slid her shield into place and unsheathed her sword.  She could hear nothing in the forest but--she could hear nothing in the forest.  That was odd.  The entire forest had gone still.  She glanced over her shoulder to see that Cassan had her staff at the ready and Devyn had unshouldered his blade.

While she couldn’t feel Darkspawn, Maeve did most certainly feel something wrong.  Judging by how quiet the younger two were, she would wager that they felt the same.  They walked until they reached a narrow passageway leading into a cave.  Duncan frowned.

“That’s odd.  I’ve been through this area before and I don’t remember a cave.”

“Um...” Devyn piped up from the rear. “I know mystery caves are cool and all but...I think that’s a person lying in front of it.”

Maeve squinted against the sun slanting through the branches and saw that her cousin was right.  Someone was passed out in front of the cave.  Two someones, in fact.  

“Oh, no.”

Duncan rushed to where the closest one lay.  All Maeve could discern about their appearance was that they had a lot of hair.  When Duncan picked them up, she saw a pointed ear slide out between the silky-looking black strands and realized that it was an elf.  Duncan turned the elf over and she saw tattoos on their face.

Blearily, the elf opened their eyes for a moment.

“I am so very sorry.”

“T-T-Ta--” they began to stammer but they lapsed back into unconsciousness before they could get the whole word out.

Maeve frowned.  What was he sorry for?  Duncan looked over his shoulder at the other elf--this one had short hair, making the ears more evident.

“I am not sure if I can carry them both...”

Even so, he started towards the blond elf where he lay passed out on top of a pile of rubble.

“I got it!” Devyn said suddenly.

He slid his sword back into the cracked, leather scabbard on his back and dashed over to the elf.  Cassan and Duncan both looked on in confusion, which faded into surprise as Devyn easily hefted the other elf onto his back.

“Where are we taking them?” he asked, trotting up to where Duncan was.

The look of surprise went away.  Duncan was all business once again.

“Judging by the tattoos on their faces, they’re Dalish.  There is a Clan nearby.  I was hoping to avoid them simply to give them space but it is imperative that we get these two back to their camp.”

“Why?” Cassan asked, surly as ever.

Duncan didn’t even look over his shoulder when he replied, “Because if we don’t, they’ll die.”

\--

“We’re wasting time.”

This wasn’t the first time Cassan had voiced her concern and it wasn’t the first time that Maeve didn’t have an answer for her.  True, being in the Dalish camp was delaying their trip to Ostagar but Duncan had insisted on going back to that cave while the two hunters they found recovered and who were they to question him?

Devyn was enjoying the camp.  He kept asking their Hahren to tell him different stories and, despite the fact that he wasn’t Dalish, the man seemed to be indulging him.  Maeve was growing uneasy, though not impatient like Cassan.  They had been at this camp for two days.

“Hey.  Flat-ear.  Turn round.”

Maeve started at the pejorative and turned to see the two hunters they had found were awake.  That surprised her since, last she heard, they were both still unconscious.  She assumed the gruff voice that spoke belonged to the blond one with short hair.  

Both elves wore the same armor and both were tall for being fellow elves but that was where the similarities ended.  The one who spoke was broad-shouldered and burly with a greatsword strapped across his back.  The other one was so beautiful that he made her teeth hurt.  Long black hair fell to his waist and was loosely braided starting at the middle of his back.  He was long, lean, and willowy and had a longbow shouldered behind him.  She saw the handles of knives at the dark-haired one’s wrists and in his boots while the blond seemed content with his massive sword.  That one--the blond--wasn’t plain or ugly but he was slightly dimmer when standing next to the dark-haired one in all his ethereal beauty.

“Do you know what happened?” the dark-haired one spoke and held his hands out.  The palms were up in a supposed gesture of peace but the afternoon sun glinted off one of the polished handles of his knives sheathed at his wrists so Maeve didn’t trust the motion.

“No.  We were with Duncan when he found you.  We don’t know what happened to you two.”

“Three,” the dark-haired elf said, narrowing his eyes. “Three.  Our clan-mate, Tamlen, was with us.  Did you see him?”

Maeve shook her head. “No.  Only you two.”

He sighed and turned to the blond.

“You were right.  They don’t know anything.”

“I told you.  Now we’ve wasted valuable time talking to these flat-ears when we could be looking for him!”

“Oh, shut up.  It was worth asking.”

They whirled to face each other, suddenly all bared teeth and animalistic growls.  Maeve sighed and was reminded vividly of breaking up fights between her cousins in the alienage.  She took a step forward and pulled them apart.

“Both of you stop fighting.  Now.”

To her surprise, both of the elves straightened up and backed off one another.

“And who are you two exactly?” she asked, shifting her gaze between them both.  Somehow, Maeve had a feeling that she would be seeing a lot of them in the upcoming hours.

“I’m Kierin,” the blond one said in that same gruff voice. “This is Theron.”

Theron smiled and extended his hand.  He kept it facing up, though, so Maeve wasn’t sure if she was to shake it or not.

“I’m Maeve,” she said. “That’s Cassan and over there is my cousin, Devyn.  We’re Grey Warden recruits.”

Kierin cocked a brow.

“That twelve-year-old over there is a Warden recruit?”

“He’s seventeen.” Maeve let a wry smile quirk on her lips. “And he carried you back to camp.”

His face went red with either embarrassment or anger, she couldn’t tell.  Theron cracked up, doubling over and bracing his hands on his knees as loud yet lilting laughter came out of him.

“Stop it, Theron!”

Kierin kicked his fellow Dalish in the side of the leg, which got him to straighten up.  He rubbed the injured leg and shot Kierin a glare.  Maeve couldn’t believe it.  Even with his face scrunched up in anger, Theron was unnaturally beautiful.

“We’re going with you back to the cave,” Kierin said and she could tell that it wasn’t a suggestion. “Us and Merrill, our Clan’s First--uh, a First is apprentice to a Keeper.  And a Keeper is--”

“I know what a Keeper is,” Maeve said, keeping her tone even.  They all heard tales of the Dalish back in the Alienage. “Are you sure you’re both up to it?  You were unconscious for two days.”

Kierin slapped his chest and said, “I can handle it.  Theron, probably not.  He’s always gotten sick really easily so he’s probably still sick.”

“No I haven’t.  He’s lying.”

Theron flicked some dark hair from his eyes and aimed another glare at his Clan-mate.  Maeve watched them both, unsure who they were to each other.  They acted very much like brothers but they couldn’t look less alike.  Lifelong friends, perhaps.  She didn’t ask.  Didn’t think it was her business.  After they found this Tamlen--or what was left of him--they would leave these Dalish behind and go on through to Ostagar.

“We’re leaving immediately,” she said instead. “Find this Merrill and let’s go.”

\--

Kierin kept looking over his shoulder as they left the forest.  It was strange, leaving home.  He traveled forever, even before he came to the Sabrae Clan as a child, but he had never left home.  What he felt was his home.  Behind him and at the rear of the group, Theron was sniffling though he was unsure if he was crying or had a stuffed up nose from either one of his autumn colds or that lingering sickness.  The Taint, Duncan had called it.  It was killing them both--had probably killed Tamlen, too.  He had told Tamlen to touch the mirror.  Theron had said not to.  Said it was too strange to find a perfectly preserved mirror in a ruin.  And now look where they were.

Leaving had been painful.  Ashalle had cried as she clung to Theron, calling him the son of her heart.  She had hugged Kierin as well but he always knew she loved Theron more, even if she didn’t show it.  She had raised him from a baby.  She just took in Kierin when he wandered in behind Merrill at the last Gathering of the Clans.

Kierin tried to get his mind off of the events of the past few days.  Apparently he and Theron were to undergo the Joining with these three flat-ears and become Wardens for their cure.  He looked at his companions.  That Duncan was alright, for a Shemlen.  He didn’t waste time.  The freckled elf with the short hair seemed alright as well.  She was older than the others and seemed to have it more together.  Sometimes annoyingly so, he thought.  He didn’t care to speak to the surly mage and he didn’t for one moment believe that the little one with the facial scars was actually seventeen.  Nor did he want to believe that tiny scrap of an elf had carried him back to camp.

“Theron, are you feeling weak?” Duncan asked.  He didn’t even turn around and Kierin had to appreciate how he seemed to just know. “If you need us to stop, please just ask.”

He glanced over his shoulder and saw his Clan-mate grit his teeth.

“No.  I’m fine.  Ma Serannas, Duncan.”

Kierin knew that he wasn’t fine but he also knew that Theron always lied about being sick.  Countless times, he would say he was fine and then Kierin or Tamlen would inevitably have to carry him back to camp after he passed out in the woods.  Ashalle said he had a weak constitution from being born too early but Kierin had heard whispers that Theron’s father had been the same way.  They spoke more openly about their last Keeper in front of him since Kierin very obviously wasn’t Theron and, thus, they didn’t have to keep secrets about the first Theron from him.

He fell back to walk alongside Theron whose head was drooped, causing a curtain of shiny black hair to obscure his face.

“You need to stop, lethallin,” Kierin said with an authoritative air. “Just sit for a moment and drink something.”

Theron snapped up and glared at him.

“I’m fine.  And I don’t need you babying me, Kie.”

He rolled his eyes and said, “Fine, be that way.  But if you pass out, I’m not carrying you this time.”

Theron made a face and Kierin made one right back.  For some reason, though, a surge of heat passed between his legs.  He put it aside in his mind.  He was sick, too, after all.

\--

Ostagar was impressive, Devyn thought.  He wondered if it was haunted.  If magister ghosts floated between the mossy columns, surveying the army preparing for battle.  He trudged behind his cousin but kept his eyes on the astounding architecture around him.  He had never seen walls so high or so ornate.  Even as dilapidated as the ruins were, they were a sight to behold.

He was so preoccupied with taking in the sights of Ostagar, that he wasn’t looking where he was going.  Furthermore, he wasn’t listening to the others, as he was so wrapped up in his own mental stories about magister ghosts.  He didn’t even know that they had formally arrived until he crashed into someone’s heavy plate metal.

Devyn let out a pained “oof” sound as he landed flat on his rear.  He rubbed his back and looked up to see who he had crashed into.  In front of him was a man dressed in gold plate armor.  A smile was on his face as he looked down to where Devyn sat.  He held out a gauntleted hand for him.  Devyn cursed himself but took the hand that was offered.  As he stood, he realized that he  should probably be bowing rather than getting back to his feet as he recognized that smiling face.  He had seen the paintings and knew that the man he had just crashed into was none other than King Cailan.

“I’m sorry, your majesty,” he said quietly, ducking his head in shame.

Surprisingly, the king laughed.

“Oh, it’s quite alright.”

He looked past Devyn and right at the rest of the group, who was coming up.

“Ho, Duncan!” The King smiled and rushed to greet him.  To Devyn he looked like a child who just got free reign of a sweet shop.

Duncan smiled and accepted the King’s embrace. “I was not expecting you here, your majesty.”

King Cailan grinned. “I heard you were arriving and I rushed out to greet you, friend.  Oh!  Are these the Grey Warden recruits?  I heard the other Wardens talking about them.”

He spoke quickly and with the same sort of unbridled excitement that Devyn knew he possessed when he talked about his interests.  He decided that he liked the King.  Duncan smiled softly and nodded his head.

“Yes, these are them.”

“Oh, there are five, though!  Your letter said three.”

Devyn was surprised that the King had apparently read the letter he had sent.

“Yes, well, due to...circumstances, I picked up two more.” Duncan gestured to Theron and Kierin.

“Well I, for one, am glad.  You Wardens need all the help you can get,” the King continued cheerfully. “And I’m glad that you’re all here to help.”

“How have things been since I left, your Majesty?”

“Oh, alright.  We’ve pushed the Darkspawn back pretty far, I think.”

“Some Blight,” Cassan muttered under her breath.

The King apparently heard that and said with a laugh, “I’m not even sure this is a true Blight.  There are plenty of Darkspawn on the field but no sight of the Archdemon.”

He sighed.

“You sound disappointed, your Majesty.” Devyn detected a twinge of humor in Duncan’s words.

“Well...I wanted a story like in the tales!  A King riding to battle with the Grey Wardens to slay great evil!” He sighed again. “Oh, well...”

He turned back to them abruptly and grinned.

“I’d love to stay and get to know you all but I’m afraid I have to leave.  Loghain needs to bore me with more strategies.”

He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out in distaste before bidding them farewell.  Devyn was surprised.  If it wasn’t for the glittering armor and the way he carried himself, he would never be able to tell that Cailan was King by his mannerisms.

“That’s your Shemlen king?” Kierin asked with a derisive snort.

“He’s not mine,” Cassan said back.

Duncan turned and glared at them.  Devyn was surprised--it was the first time he had seen true anger on his face since he met the man.

“Do not speak of the King in such a way.”

The got Kierin and Cassan to shut their mouths quickly.  Duncan’s expression softened.

“Now, the Joining will take some time to prepare.  Feel free to look around the camp and familiarize yourselves with the layout.  When you’re ready, find Alistair and report back to me.”

“Who?” Devyn asked.

“He is the Junior member of our Order and he will be assisting you with the Joining process.”

Theron scuffed a foot along the white stone walkway they were on and looked up.  He bit his lip and put a hand over his abdomen.

“Can we eat first?”

At that, Duncan laughed and said, “Certainly, yes.”

He left them, then, ostensibly to prepare for the Joining.  Devyn watched his retreating form go over the bridge that led to the main part of the camp.

“We don’t all have to find this Alistair,” he said, tearing his eyes away. “I can go find him.  I wanna look around anyhow.”

Maeve looked at him for a long moment and he braced himself for her impending, overprotective onslaught.

“Are you wearing your salve?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“Be careful, cousin.  And don’t go into the Wilds.  Don’t think I don’t know that there are legends of werewolves there and that a certain little elf would just love to meet one.”

His face burned.  Maeve was always so embarrassing.

“I wasn’t...”

Maybe he had thought about it...a little.

“Promise you won’t go into the Wilds?” She stared at him long and hard.

Devyn sighed again and drew a sun symbol over his heart to show his dedication to this promise.

“I promise.”

“I’m going to the mage’s camp,” Cassan said.

She pushed past them and began walking down the incline that led to the bridge.

“I’m going to eat,” Theron said, rubbing his stomach and whimpering.

“Me too.” Kierin was looking at the other Dalish, though, in a way that made Devyn think that he wasn’t even hungry.  He just wanted to look out for him.

Maeve pointed to her simple dress and then to Devyn’s own plainclothes.

“I’m going to see about us getting outfitted for armor.”

The group went their separate ways.  They stuck together over the bridge, mostly, but once their feet hit the packed dirt of the encampment, they all split up.  Devyn wandered around, really unsure what to do or where to go.  He honestly had no clue what this Alistair looked like or where he would be.

“Uh, hi.”

He stopped at who he figured was a guard.  He was dressed in armor, anyhow, and carried a shield bearing the rampant Mabari that signified the King’s family’s heraldry.  The guard stared at him for a moment, an expression of derision on his face.  Devyn was used to that.  Strangely, though, the man’s face cleared as though in recognition.

“Oh, you’re one of the Grey Warden recruits Duncan brought.  Well met.”

“Didn’t seem too well met a moment ago,” Devyn mumbled.

“What?”

Oh, he had said that out loud.

“Um...nothing.  Do you know where I can find someone named Alistair?”

He pulled a face.

“Ah, the loudmouth.  Yeah, he was up over there, last I saw.  Delivering a message to the Circle, he was.”

The guard pointed to a higher part of the ruins and Devyn nodded like he knew how to get there.

“Thanks.  Uh, bye--and good luck.  Tonight.  With the whole battle thing.”

He was only ever good with speaking to humans when he knew that what they wanted was sex.  Any other time, he got nervous.  He shuffled away from the guard and headed in the direction that he had pointed.

All around him, there was bustle and motion in the camp.  He heard the barking battle cries of Fereldans preparing for battle and sparring with one another.  He saw a raised platform where a Chantry sister was performing mass.  As he passed by the quartermaster where Maeve was, arguing with the tall, bald man about something.  He spotted Kierin talking to the kennel master about something but was too far to hear it.  Cassan, he saw talking to an elderly mage by the Circle’s encampment.  He saw Theron sitting by Duncan at a large fire not far from where Kierin was.  His face was buried in a bowl.

He heard arguing as he ascended the small ramp to where he figured the guard had been pointing.  He reached the upper level just in time to see an older man in robes turn round and storm off.

“Out of my way, fool,” the man said to him angrily, shoving past Devyn and down the ramp.

Devyn watched him go and then turned to the man this mage had apparently been arguing with.  He was youngish, he figured.  Older than him, definitely, but younger than Maeve.  Tall, too.  Really tall.  And big.  His broad shoulders strained in his armor, stretching the thin metal splints over the leather they were hewn to.  His eyes were a welcoming shade of brown and his hair was a dusty, dirty blond and worn short.  He had a scruff of hair on his chin and he was smiling at the man’s retreating back as if the the man’s anger was some great joke.  Devyn stared at him for a moment, unable to move.

_Please let this be Alistair._

He noticed him and aimed that smile towards him.

“Oh, hello.  You don’t happen to be another mage, do you?” he called.

Devyn snapped back to himself and shook his head.  He took a step forward so he and the man were close enough to speak normally.

“No, I’m not.  I’m--”

“Wait.  I know you.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re one of the new recruits Duncan brought.  The, uh, one from the alienage, right?  The boy?”

“Yes...although I prefer ‘Devyn’ to ‘the boy.’”

He snapped his fingers near his head.

“Right, that was the name.  I’m Alistair.”

Devyn exhaled a sigh of a relief.

“Oh, good.  Duncan wanted us to find you but he didn’t say what you looked like.”

“Ah, well.  I’m glad...that you found me, I mean.  Yeah.”

They both chuckled at the same time and Devyn felt his face heat up.  He was no stranger to getting crushes on humans but this one came about really quickly.  He knew it to be lust since he really just met Alistair but it was a potent lust.

“So let’s go get this whole Joining business done with, huh?” Alistair put on a strained smile.  There was a strange look in his eye, though, as if he was trying to figure something out.

“Yeah.  Let’s do that.”

\--

Theron was beginning to think that he shouldn’t have insisted on going into the Wilds.  Duncan had tried to get he and Kierin to stay back but Kierin felt fine and there was no way Theron was going to stay back when Kierin wasn’t.  He could almost feel the Taint coursing through his veins.  He could certainly see it, anyhow.  His veins were starting to show black on the back of his hands.  Kierin’s lips were turning and his eyes looked sunken.  He imagined that he looked similar.

“So where are you from?”

The voice cut like a knife through his head and Theron turned to glare at who had spoken.  It was Jory, one of the other recruits.  He and a smarmy loudmouth called Daveth were the other two recruits and the only ones that were human.

“I go where my Clan goes,” he answered.

“Ah.  I’m from Highever--I’m originally from Redcliffe but Highever is where I met my dear Helena.  Oh, she is the most beautiful--”

“I don’t care,” Theron interrupted.

“What?” Jory seemed taken aback.

“We are looking for Darkspawn blood in the Wilds and I am slowly dying of their illness.  I literally could not give less of a shit about you or your Shemlen wife.”

“Oh.” Jory studied him for a moment and added, “I thought Dalish spoke more formally.”

“Still not caring.”

Theron hunched his shoulders and glowered at the man.  He didn’t like Jory.  He was a simpering, balding slug.  He had looked at the five of them and said--out loud--that he had no idea that they let elves into the Wardens.  Devyn of all people had put him right in his place, saying that an elf had ended the Fourth Blight.  After that, Theron had decided that he liked the little bugger.

Daveth, the other recruit, wasn’t his favorite person but he wasn’t as pathetic as Jory so he disliked him less.  Theron trudged over to Kierin, who was staring at the ground as he walked.

“What are you doing?”

“While you were stuffing your face, I talked to the Kennel Master.  Apparently one of the dogs is sick and he asked me to look for a certain kind of flower for a cure.”

“Seriously?”

“What?  I like animals.”

Theron rolled his eyes.  Kierin was often very strange.  Or maybe he was a little bit jealous that he wasn’t outwardly suffering the way he was.  While his Clan-mate did bear the blackened veins of tainted blood, he otherwise seemed fine.

“Is that it?” Devyn proclaimed suddenly, his loud voice making the rest of them stop.

He jabbed a finger at a spot on the ground.  A single flower was growing amidst the tall, brown grass.

“Yeah...that’s it.”

Kierin bent down and plucked the flower before inserting it into the leather pouch at his hip.  Theron noted that he had a bit of a hard time getting up and gloated inwardly.  Not that he was happy about Kierin’s pain but it made him feel better that he wasn’t the only one suffering from the Taint.

“How did you know what it looks like?” Kierin asked when he finally righted himself.

Devyn shrugged.

“Uh...because it’s literally the only flower we’ve seen so far?”

“Good point.”

Maeve turned round and slit-eyed them.

“Come on, all of you.  We have to hurry.  You both need a cure and it’s going to be nightfall soon and I don’t fancy meeting the Horde.  Do you?”

Theron pressed his fingers to his chest in a sardonic salute.

“No, serrah.”

“Then keep walking.  All of you.”

Next to him, he heard that human Warden, Alistair, chuckle under his breath.

“So glad someone else took command,” he whispered.  He probably thought no one could hear but Theron’s ears picked up on it.

He grinned at him cheekily to let him know he heard and Alistair went pale.  Oh, he was going to enjoy messing with him.

\--

Cassan lifted the hem of her robes as she tromped through the mud but it was largely to no avail.  The entire lower half of her robes were soaked through and filthy.  She had been proud to receive them.  They were proof that she had passed her Harrowing.  Proof of her abilities as a mage.  Now that she was in the woods, however, they were only wetly clinging to her legs and weighing her down.

She trailed behind the others at a distance that was nearly laughable.  They had filled all of the vials necessary with the blackish-red Darkspawn blood and so now all that there was left to do was to search for the cache Duncan had told them about.  The Grey Warden treaties.  Cassan scoffed inwardly.  As if they were still there.

Finally, she could take no more.  She gathered the bottom of her robes into her arms and tromped over to one of those sick Dalish elves.

“Hey, prettyboy,” she snapped.

Theron turned and cocked his head to the side.  It had to be a practiced movement because there was no way that he could just turn his head and his hair would tumble luxuriously over his shoulder like that.

“Yes?”

Maker, his veins showed through his skin and his lips were bruised and blackened to the Void and he still was beautiful.  Oh, to be one of the lucky ones.

“You’ve a knife on you, right?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He gestured to his waist where one was sashed.  He held his hands out with the arms up to show the hilts of the knives that were sheathed against his arms.  He pointed to his boots where she could see the polished handles of even more knives.

“Give me one.”

Theron pulled the one at his waist out and Cassan snatched it from his hand.  She stopped and began sawing at the lower half of her robes.  Once she got a hole, she ripped them the rest of the way around.  A cold wind blew at her bare legs and immediately her knees knocked together.  She was, at least, no longer dragging five pounds of soaked velvet so that was something.  Her new robes ended just above the knee where water and muck hadn’t been able to reach.

“Here.”

She thrust the knife back at Theron who returned it to the leather belt at his waist.

“You’re welcome.”

“Whatever.”

Cassan felt eyes on her and turned, readying a comment for one of those Shemlen recruits in case they were ogling her suddenly exposed legs.  Instead, she found Maeve’s steady, patient gaze.

“What?” she snapped.

“Do you need some stockings?  You might get cold.”

She reached down and ran her hand over her goose-pimpled flesh.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Alright, she was beginning to see why Devyn got annoyed with her constant mothering.

“Yes, I’m sure.  Let’s just keep moving, alright?”

Cassan dumped the soiled lower part of her robes on the ground and marched forward ahead of the others.

“Darkspawn!” the Warden with them--that Alistair--let out a cry.

She didn’t have time to laugh at the pitch his voice hit on the last syllable of that word.  She couldn’t yet see any Darkspawn but if he said he sensed them then they had to be there.  She squinted through the mist that seemed to permeate the Wilds entirely but could only see the shadowy outline of what was probably once a great tower in the setting sun.

“Theron, Daveth--aim your bows right...there!” Alistair pointed somewhere up ahead.

“What about the rest of us?” Devyn smiled up at him and tipped his head to the side.  Cassan nearly vomited at the pure adoration reflected obviously in his face.

Alistair didn’t notice the look and he rubbed the back of his neck uneasily.

“Uh...I’m not...sure.  Just.  When you see a Darkspawn start killing it.  Like the ones back there.”

“Good plan,” Kierin said with a snort as he eased his massive sword into his hands.

Theron and Daveth simultaneously let their arrows loose at the same time.  Either Theron was just a good a shot as that Shemlen while slowly dying or Daveth was not so great.  It didn’t seem to matter in the end since she heard the now-familiar grunting sound of a Darkspawn falling.  She heard footfalls, then, and more grunting.

“Um--” Alistair started.

Cassan cut him off by flinging a spirit bolt at a Genlock, searing it completely.  Around her, the rest jolted into motion.  There were eight of them and only a small handful of Darkspawn and so the battle was over quickly.  For that, Cassan was glad.  She was getting sick of the Wilds.

Maeve led the way into the tower where a broken chest lay pathetically among the rubble.

“I’m guessing the treaties were in there,” Devyn remarked.

“Oh, and it’s empty,” Kierin added.

“Blast it,” Alistair said with a defeated sigh. “I don’t want to go back and have to tell Duncan...he’ll be so disappointed.”

To Cassan, he seemed a lot more upset about disappointing Duncan than the fact that they went far deeper into the Wilds than they had to only to find nothing.

“Well, if it’s empty can we go back?  I’m hungry.” Theron made a whining sound and rubbed his stomach.

“You literally just ate,” Kierin snapped.

“One, that was hours ago.  Two, you should be nice to me.  I’m dying.”

“So am I!”

Cassan was about to snap at them both to be quiet but movement out of the corner of her eye curbed her tongue.

A girl floated down from the shadows and she wondered if she had been there this whole time.  She’d have noticed her for sure.  She was beautiful.  Her lips were painted a deep plum color and curved up slightly as if she had heard the most delicious joke.  Her skin was pale and looked soft, like silk or some kind of rare flower.  Luxurious black hair was pulled up away from the back of her neck and knotted atop her head.  She wore a curious outfit: a skirt made from belts and a torn, ragged top cut low in the front.

“Who is this, hmmm?” She expertly cocked a brow as she continued her descent to their level. “Intruders?  Thieves?  Scavengers, perhaps?  Picking at the bones of something long since rifled through?”

“You rehearse that?” Devyn asked, his raspy voice loud and abrupt.

The girl stumbled a bit and fired a glare at the little elf.  Cassan liked her already.  Her legs clenched together and she suddenly missed the protection of the robes.  The sight of her pressed together thighs was quite obvious.  Then again, the girl wasn’t even looking at her.  Her gaze shifted from Devyn, right to Theron.  Cassan sighed inwardly.

“Who are you?” Kierin asked.

Daveth began gesturing wildly as though someone set his pants on fire.

“I know what she is!  She’s a Witch of the Wilds!  She’ll throw us all in the pot!”

“Quiet,” Jory snapped back, surprising Cassan with his sudden spurt of a backbone.

The girl ignored them both and folded her arms over her chest.

“Alright, I admit.  I watched you for some time and spent a couple moments thinking of what to say, yes.  So, what are you doing here, hmm?”

“We’re looking for the Grey Warden archive that was here,” Maeve answered politely.

“Ah, I regret to inform you that it is here no longer.”

Alistair’s face screwed up as he processed the words.

“Here no longer?  You stole it, didn’t you?  You’re some kind of...sneaky...witch thief!”

“Good one,” Kierin deadpanned.

“Do you know where it is?” Devyn asked.

“Certainly, young elf...” She moved her hand to prompt his name.

“Devyn.”

“Devyn.  And I am Morrigan.  As for your treaties, my mother has them.”

“Can you take us to her?” Cassan blurted, not wanting that tiny little weirdo to bogart the entire conversation with this ethereal witch-beauty.

That got her a smile and her insides went to goo.

“That is a proper civil question.  I like you.”

_She likes me!_

Cassan told her mind to shut up and just followed Morrigan’s beckoning hand.

\--

Morrigan’s mother, it turned out, lived in a shack in the middle of the Wilds.  Maeve figured them for apostates.  They had their fair share of them back in the alienage and most everyone did their best to keep them from the Templar’s scrutiny.

She was old, very old, with unkempt hair and a ratty old dress on.  Her face, though, was remarkable as though she had once possessed a great beauty.

“Here they are, mother,” Morrigan reported dutifully, though there was a bite on the edge of her words.

“I see them, girl.  Yes...much as I expected.”

A snort from Alistair.

“Are we to believe you were expecting us?”

“Believe what you want, young man.”

Her eyes scanned over them and Maeve felt a chill work its way down her spine.  She heard the tail end of Jory say something, perhaps in response to Daveth, but she missed the initial part of that conversation.  The woman’s gaze was mesmerizing.

“Now there’s a smart lad--sadly irrelevant to the grander scheme of things, but it is not I who decides.”

Her voice as well was intoxicating.  Maeve could listen to her all day.

“And as for the rest of you...” Her lips quirked up in a smile eerily identical to the one Morrigan greeted them with. “There is something there, isn’t there?”

The woman--she still hadn’t given her name--locked her gaze on Maeve before shifting it to Devyn.

“Especially you two.  How curious, the bond of family can be.”

“How do you know...?” Devyn began but then shook his head, deciding against it.

“This is all well and creepy,” Theron broke in impatiently, “but if you have those treaties, we really need them.  You see, I’m dying.”

That same slight half-smile.

“Don’t worry, lad.  You’ll survive for a good long while.  But I do have your treaties.  I’ve been protecting them.”

“You have?” Alistair sounded surprised.

“Of course, dear boy.  What do you take me for?  They’ll be necessary in the upcoming days...and, besides, it is important to keep precious things protected.  Wouldn’t you know that?”

Alistair’s face paled as if he caught a hidden meaning in her words but Maeve couldn’t parse it.  Perhaps sensing his discomfort, Devyn smiled and stepped forward.

“Thank you for returning them.”

“Such manners!  You’ve been taught well, lad.  Now go.  You Grey Wardens are needed when last I heard.”

\--

It was well past nightfall when they finally returned to camp.  All over campfires were roaring.  Maeve shivered.  Winter had been coming up north as well but down here, she could really feel a chill.  She hoped Cassan wouldn’t freeze with her legs bare like that after being used to long, heavy robes.

“We should tell Duncan about Morrigan and her mother,” Devyn remarked. “I mean...not like yapping but...to let him know.”

Alistair nodded. “Good idea.”

Kierin glanced away to look at the Kennel Master.

“Hold on.  I have to give him that flower.”

Maeve scrutinized him.  He had taken a bad turn in the Wilds.  Both he and Theron looked close to death.

“Give it to me.  You all meet with Duncan.”

Kierin reluctantly surrendered the flower and she dashed to hand it to the Kennel Master before running back to the others.  When she arrived, the Dalish held his hand out.

“What?” she asked, baffled.

“The reward!” he snapped. “For bringing the flower!”

At that, Theron burst into laughter.

“I knew it!” he crowed. “I knew you weren’t just doing it out of the kindness of your heart!”

Duncan cleared his throat and waited for them to quiet down.

“Come with us to the old temple--all of you.  We will begin the Joining ritual.”

Like chastised children, they got in a single file line behind Duncan and followed him up the ramp to an abandoned area of the ruins.

“We speak only a few words before the Joining...”

Duncan continued to speak in his deep, melodic voice and Maeve realized just how long a day it had been.  She was beginning to fall asleep.  She was jolted back into awareness when he called Daveth to the cup.

“Daveth...from this moment forth, you are a Grey Warden.”

He took the chalice from Duncan’s hands and drank.  Immediately, he began coughing and choking, clutching at his throat as though trying to get out whatever was blocking it.  Duncan’s face creased with regret.

“I am sorry, Daveth.”

He fell to the ground and didn’t move.  Maeve put her hand over her mouth.  She didn’t think someone could die in the Joining.  She skirted a nervous glance to Devyn.  He looked similarly shocked, both hands clamped over his mouth.

Duncan turned to Jory, who was stepping backwards.  Fear was etched onto his face and one hand reached back for his sword.

“Jory...step forth--”

“No!  No--there’s no glory in this!” He pulled the sword out and held it in front of him in a threatening manner. “I have a wife--a-a child!”

Duncan drew one of the swords he kept at his back.  Jory rushed at him.

“This is going to end well,” Theron observed wryly.

Jory lunged forward, attempting to use his great sword as some sort of rapier.  Duncan easily parried it and slashed him through the middle.  Maeve gasped despite herself.

“I am sorry.”

Gently, he pushed the man’s body off of his blade.

“But the Joining is not yet complete.”

He sheathed his sword and went to where he had put down the chalice.  With that same calm voice, he addressed them.

“Theron Mahariel.  Step forth.”

Theron followed the order and took the chalice in both hands.  He faltered and nearly dropped it.  Alistair came up behind him to steady him.  He held his head for him as he drank.

“From this moment forward, you are a Grey Warden.”

Theron wobbled on his feet for a moment and his eyes turned suddenly white.  He then collapsed backwards into Alistair’s arms.

“He will awaken,” Duncan observed.

Somewhere behind her, she heard the rush of a breath being released.  She glanced over to see poorly concealed relief on Kierin’s face.

“Kierin...step forth.”

He repeated the motion with him although he didn’t need Alistair’s aid in drinking.  He collapsed near Theron.

“Devyn Tabris.  Step forth.”

Maeve’s chest clenched with anxiety as he walked forward to Duncan and took the chalice in both hands.  He tipped it to his mouth.

“From this day forth, you are a Grey Warden.”

Devyn handed it back to him and then staggered backwards, clutching his throat.  He doubled over and vomited a red-black color onto the ground.  Duncan made the same face of regret that he had with Daveth.

“Devyn, I am so so--”

“No!”

As soon as she spoke the word, Maeve rushed to be at her cousin’s side.

“Devyn, no!  Please.  You aren’t going to die.  You can’t.”

She held him gently in her arms and carefully tilted his head up to face her.

“You can do this.  Just concentrate.”

His eyes pleaded with hers and she saw the fear there.  Maeve wiped her fingers on his chin and forced the blood back into his mouth.  Devyn swallowed it laboriously.  He sucked in deep, shaky breaths.

“You can do this,” she repeated.

Finally, his eyes went white as Theron and Kierin’s had and he went to sleep in her arms.  Maeve looked up to see Duncan staring at her in shock.

“I...have never seen that happen before.”

Shakily, she got to her feet and placed Devyn near where the two Dalish were out.

“Yes, well...our family is very stubborn.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is some descriptive violence in here that wasn't present in other chapters. I'm terrible with fight scenes so there probably won't be too much but just a heads up that this chapter is a bit more violent than the other two!

Duncan strode over to the far end of the ruins where the King and the Teryn were awaiting him.  He glanced over his shoulder at the newest Wardens, particularly keeping his gaze on Devyn.  In all his years as a Warden, he had never seen anyone make it through the Joining after initially not passing.  There was something particularly curious about the Tabris family.  He thought it might be magic but neither cousin nor any of their family in the alienage seemed to possess any.

There was a long table at the far end of the ruins, incongruous to the dirt that surrounded it.  A chart spread out over it and the King was currently poring over it alongside Loghain.  With them was the Mage Duncan knew as Uldric.  He had had limited contact with the man but it was enough not to like him.  Surprisingly there was a boy alongside him.  He was young-looking but big in that Fereldan sort of way and carried a greatsword.  Loghain looked up to address him.

“Tell Captain Varel to get his wings ready to charge after the hounds.”

The boy pulled a face but then seemed to realize who was speaking to him and he straightened up, though the look of petulance remained.

“Yes, General.”

He pounded his chest with his fist and strode off.  Duncan noticed Loghain watching his retreating back with what could maybe pass as a twinge of regret.  The look made him frown.  Loghain wasn’t a particularly sentimental man.  He knew about casualties in war and whether or not this boy would survive the upcoming battle was a fact of it.  Why did he look upset?

Duncan had no time to ponder it further because the King had just noticed him.  Cailan’s eyes lit up in excitement and a grin sprang onto his face.

“Duncan!” he enthused. “You’re just in time.  I have a special mission for your Wardens!”

He seemed to be brimming with exuberance as he pointed to a spot on the chart.

“That’s the Tower of Ishal.  I want to have two Wardens up there to light the beacon for Loghain’s men to flank our forces.”

“Two?”

The King nodded. “There may be resistance of the Darkspawn variety and so I figure two is good.  Who can you spare?”

“Alistair,” he answered without hesitation or thought.

Cailan stared at him for a long moment as if reading his face.  His excitement was momentarily on a low simmer.

“Yes, I think that would be best.”

The tone in the King’s voice surprised him.  Duncan knew his own reasons for sending Alistair.  He was worried about him--overprotective.  The other senior Wardens would laugh at his attachment to the lad.  The King’s reasons, however, were another matter.  A thought struck Duncan as he studied his expression.

_Does he know about Alistair?_

He saw no reason for Cailan to know about him being Maric’s second son but also saw no reason for why he wouldn’t.

“Who else would you like to send?” Duncan asked.

“Oh...uh...whichever of your new Wardens you think is best suited,” he replied with a bit unease.

Duncan bowed a little and left them to their planning.  He knew only what his own forces would do in the battle since Loghain never wanted him privy to anything else.  He walked back to the old temple where the elves and Alistair were waiting.  Maeve had procured armor for her and her cousin at the quartermaster.  She was tightening some onto him but even the slimmest leathers couldn’t buckle onto Devyn’s bony frame without shifting when he moved.

“Duncan,” Kierin acknowledged him with a jerky incline of his head. “What does the King want?”

“Most of you will be fighting alongside the other Wardens and myself.”

“Most?” Maeve sounded uneasy.

Duncan nodded and gestured back to the planning session behind them.

“The King has asked for one of you to go along with Alistair to light the beacon at the Tower of Ishal on the far end of the ruins.  It will alert the Teryn’s men to join the battle and flank the Darkspawn with fresh fighters.”

Alistair groaned and put his hands over his face.

“I have to go and hold the torch?” he demanded angrily. “I don’t even get to be in the fight?”

Duncan could understand his frustration.  At first he did it unconsciously but more often on purpose, he always kept Alistair out of the serious fighting.  It wasn’t simply because of his birthright.  It was a combination of the promise he had made and an innate desire to protect him.  He decided, as he always did when Alistair sulked about being left behind, to be careful with his words.

“While it doesn’t sound like a glorious mission, it is imperative.  If any of you would like to volun--”

“Me!” Devyn shot his arm straight in up the air like a child in a lesson. “I’ll go!”

Duncan sputtered over the last word, not expecting to be interrupted.  He wondered why Devyn volunteered with such excitement but then saw him turn to look at Alistair with besotted eyes.  He chuckled to himself.  So he had a bit of a crush.  Most other Wardens discouraged romance in their ranks but Duncan never thought himself like most Wardens, though he often tried to act it.  He didn’t know where Alistair’s romantic intentions lay--and he never wanted to know--but figured that no matter what they were, there was no harm in Devyn’s crush.  He had been planning on sending him, anyhow.  Maeve would be necessary to rein in the remaining three on the frontlines and none of the others seemed suitable choices.

“I can go as well,” Maeve said suddenly as if she could sense his thoughts. “Or instead.  You don’t have to go, cousin.”

Devyn glared at her.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?  I’m out of the bulk of the fighting.  Besides, you’re needed here.” He turned to Duncan, eyes wide. “Right?”

He nodded, suppressing a chuckle. “Yes.  You will lead the four remaining Wardens here, Maeve.”

“What?” Theron and Kierin shouted at once.

“She’s leading?” Cassan added angrily.

“Yes.  She is the oldest and...seems best suited for command.”

Again, he chose his words carefully.

“Your skills are needed in the battle down here.  Alistair and Devyn are more suited to lighting the beacon.”

That seemed to content them, at least for the moment.

“Is there time to eat before the battle?” Theron asked.  He rubbed his abdomen and pouted.

“Do you ever think of anything else?” Kierin snapped. “We’re about to fight a battle where we all might die and you’re concerned about your stomach?!”

“I’m starving!”

“You’re ridiculous!”

Duncan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  He did not envy Maeve’s position in the upcoming battle.

\--

The rain began to fall shortly before Alistair and Devyn left.  He glowered and hunched his shoulders, feeling far younger than his twenty years.  He knew that this mission was important but it still felt like he was being shunted off to safety yet again.  Ever since his Joining six months ago, Duncan had been babying him.  He thought it had to do with his secret parentage but, strangely, Duncan had treated him that way before Alistair had told him that he was Maric’s illegitimate son.  He figured it maybe had to do with his age.  That was why he probably would have sent Devyn with him even if he hadn’t volunteered.

For that matter, his volunteering confused him.  He looked at Devyn next to him as adjusted his leathers and frowned at them.

“Too big?” Alistair asked.

He looked up and nodded. “Yeah.”

Devyn was very small.  He was maybe only a little taller than five feet and looked as though he weighed about as much as a soaking wet cat.

“Have you got an undershirt on?”

He shook his head. “Oh, huh--you think that’d work?”

“Worth a shot.”

He waited as Devyn quickly slipped out of his leathers and pulled the shirt he had been wearing prior.  His nimble fingers buckled himself back in and he grinned up at Alistair.

“All set.”

Devyn had a nice smile, he thought.  He had all his teeth and they were pretty clean-looking.  The smile itself lit up his face, even in the rain.  What confused him about that lit up face was the tattoo that snaked around his eyes.  It was pinkish and formed a sort of spider web mask.  Why would he get that?  Devyn noticed him looking and put a gloved hand over his eyes as a sort of visor.

“The Tower’s that way, right?”

He pointed with his free hand.  Alistair nodded and ducked his head, feeling well embarrassed for being caught staring.

“Yeah. We’ve got to hurry so Loghain’s men’ll know when to charge.”

Devyn saluted him with the hand he had been using as a visor and grinned again.  He pulled the hood of his leathers up over his head and took off.  Alistair followed.  He felt it a bit odd that Devyn was only wearing simple traveling leathers since the sight of that greatsword seemed to need heavy plate to complement it.

“We have to cross the bridge!” Alistair called to him, realizing that he wasn’t leading and that Devyn didn’t know where the Tower was. “The Tower’s on the other side!”

When they reached the bridge, Alistair could hear sounds of fighting down below.  The archers manning the ballistas and catapults were shouting orders to each other to be heard over the sudden downpour.

Devyn still ran on ahead, moving surprisingly fast for having that big sword strapped against his back.  Alistair ducked his head against the rain and struggled to keep up.  There was water under the thin, metal splints of his armor and it was mucking up the leather.  He tried to ignore it.

The first indication he had that there were most definitely emissaries amongst the horde was when a fireball incinerated an entire chunk of the bridge.  Alistair was caught in the blowback and flew the opposite end.  He stared upwards, dazed.  His head throbbed and his throat felt burnt.  All he could see above him was smoke, sky, and rain.

_Oh, the rain is falling sideways.  That’s new._

A face came up and blocked the fall of rain onto his face.  It took him a moment to realize that it was Devyn.  Again, he found himself staring at that strange tattoo.

“You alright?”

He nodded and then winced against the pain.  Devyn held out a gloved hand.

“Come on, then.  Like you said, we’ve got to hurry.”

He took his hand, surprised at how firm his grasp was.  Devyn hauled him to his feet with ease and Alistair opened his mouth to thank him but, of course, he ruined it.

“Why did you get that tattoo?”

He blinked at him in confusion, his brow furrowed.  Alistair noticed that rainwater was getting stuck in his eyelashes.  At last, Devyn broke into a wide grin.

“They’re not tattoos,” he said. “They’re scars.”

Now Alistair felt like a right ass.  His face went hot and he began stammering an apology.  Devyn shrugged and started running again.

“C’mon!  That beacon won’t light itself!”

“Uh, right.  Yeah!  Right behind you!”

\--

Theron thought he was used to death.  Animals died when you hunted them.  Shemlen died with enough arrows in them.  His parents, even, had died--as Ashalle had told him.  And Tamlen, too, according to Duncan at least, died.  He had never been in battle.  Not like this, at least.  Skirmishes with Shemlen wandering too close to their camp, yes, but not a battle.  He was a hunter, not a warrior.

The battle had barely begun but already he had seen more death than he thought possible.  Before the horns cried, he had been sulking.  His hood was pulled up from his armor--different from the leathers some of the Shemlen wore around him, which everyone commented on--but his hair was too bountiful and the loose braid he wore spilled out the front where it was immediately soaked and sodden.  Next to him, a great big warrior with an even greater, bigger beard had laughed.  Said, “Your pretty elf hair’ll feel better afterwards anyway when you wash their blighted guts out of it.”  Smiled.  Theron had smiled back.

Shortly after the battle began, he saw the enormous mountain of a man gutted by a Hurlock.  Theron filled the beast with several arrows for the deed.  Now it was too close to use arrows, which was fine by him.  He was running low and, besides, he was armed.  Whenever a knife of his was knocked away, he pulled another one out and continued fighting.

His hood fell back as he moved through, slicing up as many Darkspawn as his long limbs could reach.  He couldn’t see any of his other fellow recruits but he hoped they were alright.  He didn’t bear any of them particularly good feelings--save for Kierin who, like it or not, was his blood-brother--but he didn’t wish them dead.

He spotted the King, though.  Hard not to in that glitteringly gold armor he wore.  Theron saw that the happy, bouncing, oversized child he had met at the entry of the Ruins was gone.  The man in his place swung his greatsword with gusto, cleaving Darkspawn left and right.  At the sight of that, Theron thought that maybe things wouldn’t turn out too poorly.

“Well,” he muttered under his breath as he parried a Genlock’s blade and brought the heel of his hand into its disformed face. “Except for that bearded mountain.”

\--

The Tower had been taken.  Devyn knew he shouldn’t have been thrilled.  Darkspawn swarming the Tower would make his and Alistair’s task far more difficult.  They would undoubtedly miss the signal if they had to stop and fight their way through.  Yet, he was excited.  An actual battle!

He didn’t feel too bad, anyhow.  It may have been taken but the Darkspawn populating the Tower were sparse.  He, Alistair, and the mage who had joined them made quick work of them.  A soldier had been with them but he had died before they reached the second floor, cut down by an emissary’s fireball.  They were nearly to the top of the Tower, walking over the corpses of the poor people who occupied it before the Darkspawn came.

Devyn spotted Alistair making a sun symbol over his chest and murmuring under his breath at each burnt, unrecognizable body they passed.  There were corpses on the stairs, too, and Devyn feared that they had been trying to escape when they fell.  They were nearly to the top, now, and they would light the beacon and these poor people wouldn’t have died in vain.

“Devyn,” Alistair said suddenly, and the volume of his voice made him jump.

“Yes?” he asked, trying to recover as quickly as possible.  He looked away so Alistair wouldn’t see his flush of embarrassment.

“The way you swing that sword, it’s...more like you’re wielding an ax.”

His face went hot again and Devyn laughed awkwardly into his hand.

“Ah...right.  Well, elves aren’t allowed to have weapons in the alienage so when we’d play fight to hide that we were training, I would always pretend have a big battleaxe.”

Alistair laughed, which eased his embarrassment a little.

“Well, alright...hey, if we survive this, I’ll buy you a battleaxe in celebration.”

Devyn smirked back and said, “I’m holding you to that.”

They ascended a couple more of the winding stairs before Alistair spoke again.

“If you don’t mind my asking...uh...”

Alistair motioned around his own eyes and then one side of his cheek went concave as though he were gnawing on it.

“Oh, my scars?” Devyn touched the tips of his gloved fingers against the lowermost one. “You’re probably wondering how I got ‘em, huh?”

“Uh, yeah...that is...if you’re alright with...I mean, I know about--I’ve heard about--violence in alienages and--”

He surprised both of them with a sudden bark of laughter.

“Oh, I said something wrong, didn’t I?”

He shook his head, still laughing.

“No, I mean...there is a lot of violence back home but that isn’t how I got these scars.  Not in like a fight or anything.”

They reached the door and Devyn began pushing on it.  They usually deferred to him to get the massive wooden doors open since they were so old that the wood had bloated and warped in the frames, making them difficult to open.  Behind them, the Circle mage said nothing.

“Then how?”

“Well, I--”

Devyn heard the sound of chewing before the door was fully open and the story he had planned died in his throat.  He moved it wide enough for the three of them to get through and came face to face with an ogre.

“It’s good thing my smalls are still soaked from the rain,” Alistair mumbled behind him before adding, “The joke is that I just wet myself.”

The great beast approached them, moving on grey-blue tree trunks that were easily each as big as Devyn was himself.

“Do you have a plan?” the mage asked finally, voice hoarse.  Poor man had probably never seen combat in his life.  That made two of them.

“Uh, yeah,” Devyn said, trying to sound assured.  He couldn’t help but notice how surreal it was that two adult humans were deferring to a seventeen-year-old elf to help them win against an ogre. “Try not to die.”

“Good plan,” Alistair with with a weak chuckle.

“What’s yours?”

“Good point.  I like your plan.”

Devyn eased his sword back into his hands.  It had seen better days--he honestly had no idea how much action it had seen before he took it off that dead guard in the Arl’s estate--but it would do.  He lunged at the ogre and struck it across the middle.  To his dismay, his sword only left a shallow cut on its chest.  He didn’t have time to get over his shock, however, since a great, clawed hand wrapped around his middle and hoisted him into the air.

“Devyn!” Alistair cried.

His sword fell from his hand and clattered onto the stone floor.  Devyn gritted his teeth and managed to wriggle his arms out from the ogre’s grasp.  Alistair and the mage were giving the beast all they had but Devyn had a feeling it wasn’t enough.  He clenched his jaw tightly and wrapped both hands around one finger.  Slowly, he pried it off of him.  He repeated the motion with the next couple of fingers.  The ogre didn’t seem to notice since it was fighting off Alistair and the mage’s attacks.

Devyn dropped back onto the floor and rolled to keep from landing on his feet and doing any possible damage.  Maeve had taught him that.  He ignored his sword.  It had barely done any damage anyhow.  Still unnoticed by the ogre, he tried to figure out a weak point.  Its eyes, obviously but they were so small and so high it seemed like a lost cause.  A memory hit him, then, like an arrow to the chest.  He was maybe seven and Maeve was washing his hair while telling him about weak points.  A good one was...

He moved.  He ran to the ogre’s hand that he had just left vacant and put both arms around its thick wrist.  He braced both feet on the ground and leaned back.  His muscles burned in agony but still he pulled.  The ogre, not expecting the sudden attack, went in a way that almost looked willful.  Devyn heaved it over his shoulder and flat onto its face.

“Alistair!” he cried, surprised at how strained his voice sounded.

The warrior stared at him, dumbfounded, as if he couldn’t believe that Devyn had just tossed an ogre over his shoulder.  If time wasn’t of the essence, he’d have told him that his screaming, burning muscles told a different story.

“Take your sword and ram it right into the base of its head!”

He came out of his state of shock and nodded rapidly.

“Right.  Stabbing--yes.”

Alistair ran up to the ogre and lifted his sword high, holding it in both hands.  He brought it down at a slight angle at the spot Devyn had indicated.  The ogre roared and then went still.  Devyn sagged in relief and went to fetch his sword.  He had shouldered it and was rubbing his aching shoulders when Alistair reached him.

“You...you-you, you were amazing!” he exclaimed.

Devyn grinned and blushed, scuffing his boots against the floor.

“Alright...um...we’ve probably missed the signal so we have to light the beacon.”

Alistair pointed to a small cubby filled with hay.

“With what?”

“Uh...good question.”

The mage stepped forward, his hands steepled together. “I can.”

Devyn smiled his gratitude and nodded towards the cubby.  The mage approached it and held his palms out.  A small flame conjured in one hand and he carefully cupped it with the other.  As though he were tossing a ball to a small child, the mage gently released the flame into the cubby.

“Now what?” he asked.

Alistair shrugged. “We, ah, wait.  I guess.”

Devyn went to agree but heard the scuffling of footfalls on the steps to this level.  Their moment of respite was apparently going to be short-lived.

\--

Loghain saw the beacon lit.  A derisive snort nearly passed his lips.  So the bratty bastard wasn’t as incompetent as he thought.  It was no matter now.  He had to act.

“General?”

Ser Cauthrien was at his side, eyes wide and imploring.  He liked Cauthrien.  She was patriotic and loyal, a combination of traits that he respected in a soldier.  Both of those traits, however, were to be put to the test if he went through with his plan.  It wasn’t just this, this massive crossroads, but before.  The boy cowering in the dungeon in Denerim and the special mission he gave him.  He was already going down that path so he might as well continue.

And, yet, he remembered the face of the boy under Varel.  He couldn’t have been older than eighteen.  Then again, he’d been the same age when he’d joined up with Maric all those years ago.  Pain tightened in his chest momentarily at the thought of him.  Five years and he still felt it.  Loghain let his mind drift back to the boy.  He’d introduced himself but he hadn’t been listening.  His family name had something to do with birds, though, and he wasn’t even nobility.  He was a farm boy, as Loghain had been.  Did he need to die?  He tried to banish the thought.  It was war.  Bird-boy knew that when he enlisted, he could die.

Furthermore, there was Cailan.  Cailan, that blasted fool.  Maybe it wasn’t his fault.  Maric and Rowan and he himself had made sure that he grew up not knowing war as anything other than what happened in stories.  Still, if he had backed down from his adamancy of bringing in the Orlesians, maybe it wouldn’t come to this.  In his mind’s eye, Loghain saw Cailan’s cherubic face at age five: round, rosy cheeks, and bright eyes.  That boy...could he let that boy down?  Another memory.  Last week.  Arguing with him about him writing yet another letter to their blasted Empress.  Worse still, he had reason to believe that Anora--their queen, his own daughter--agreed with him.  Maybe the idea had even initially been hers.  Either way, the notion of those invaders setting foot on Fereldan soil once again was worse than these blighted fiends.

“General?” Cauthrien asked again.

“Sound...” Loghain looked at the beacon burning brightly and then back at her. “The retreat.”

Her eyes went wide with disbelief. “But--the King--”

He grabbed her gauntleted wrist and pulled her close to him.

“Do as I say.”

She pulled herself away and nodded slowly, mournfully.  She turned round and began giving orders to the men.  Loghain couldn’t see the battle but he could hear it.  Steel and iron clashing against...whatever Darkspawn blades were made of.  Screams of the dying.  He turned away.

_Maker, forgive me..._

Somehow, he figured it wasn’t that easy.

\--

Theron saw the beacon lit and grinned.

“About time,” he muttered. “Right?”

The soldier next to him gave him a withering look.

“I have no time for banter when there are Darkspawn to kill,” she replied.

“That sounds like banter to me.”

She sent over another withering stare and got back to business.  Theron liked the redheaded warrior he’d been fighting beside for the past...well, he wasn’t exactly sure how much time had passed.  He hoped she didn’t die.  When she ran ahead, though, he didn’t follow.  With everyone falling all around him, he didn’t want to see her cut down as well.

He whirled back around to bring his knives in front of him in a crossed shape in order to parry the blade of the Hurlock that had come up behind him.  Theron raised his foot and stomped down on the beast’s knee, grinning in satisfaction when he heard the snap of bone.  The Hurlock let out a screech that chilled his blood but Theron ignored it.  He moved one arm to push the sword away before slashing it across the throat.

A roar sounded to his left and he turned again.  He saw an ogre charging towards a figure in gold--the King.  Theron watched in horror as the creature lifted him up by the middle.  Somehow, despite the din of battle and the sound of rain hitting the ground, he heard the crunch when the beast’s hand closed around his middle.  King Cailan’s limp body was thrown to the ground but before Theron could even think to react, he saw an armored form go leaping at the ogre.  Duncan.

He was in shock as he watched the Warden kill it using only his knives.  Battle raged around him but Theron wasn’t there.  His blood was ice and when he dared to close his eyes, even to blink, he saw the King’s bloodied corpse being flung to the ground.  He finally was brought back to reality when he saw Duncan land on his knees before the fallen ogre, hand braced against his side.  Approaching him was an armored Hurlock wielding a battleaxe that looked to be made of flesh and bone.  Theron ran.  He always ran as a child.  To get away.  To try and make himself stronger--not a child that fell to sickness.  His strides were long and quick, even on the muddied ground.  He came up behind the Hurlock and jammed a knife in the joint of its arm just as it raised the axe.  He used his offhand knife to shred its throat.  When the Hurlock fell, he propped Duncan into his arms to get him away.  Kierin would laugh at him--risking his life to save a Shem--but Duncan wasn’t just any Shemlen.

“Duncan!” he shouted. “The Beacon...the...uh...Ter-inn’s men?”

The Shemlen title felt odd on his tongue but if Duncan noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.

“I do not...” Duncan winced in pain. “...think they are coming.”

Theron swallowed thickly.  He was a newcomer to battle but he knew what that meant.  Without the Teryn’s men, they were going to die.  Duncan seized his arms, then, eyes wide.

“Theron.  Get the others.  Get them...out of here.  Leave.”

He wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about.

“Leave...as in...retreat?”

Duncan’s head bobbed on his shoulders.

“A Warden...has to end the Blight.” His eyes pleaded with his.

“What about you?  I think some of these mages are healers.  They can--”

“Go!” Duncan urged. “And find...”

He swallowed painfully.  Blood was trickling down out the corner of his mouth.  His hands gripped at Theron’s upper arms tightly.  Where they were, up against a wall of rock and patches of brown grass, they were shielded from both the rain and the battle.  For now.

“Alistair,” he said finally. “You will need him.  Without the King and...without Alistair...”

“I’ll find him,” Theron promised hastily.  He had no clue how he was going to be able to get to that Tower and back with time enough to get to safety, but he had to say something. “I promise.”

Duncan smiled softly and then went limp in his arms.  Theron stood there for a moment, holding his body.  He gently put him down and whispered a prayer for the fallen over his still form.  He could do no more.  He had made a promise.  Theron pressed the tips of his fingers--still smeared with Duncan’s blood--to his armor, right over his heart.  He saluted Duncan before turning round to find the others.

\--

The air stank of blood and voided bowels.  Maeve was finding it hard to breathe.  The rain had kept most of it at bay but the downpour had stopped and the stench came out.  She knew she was no good covering her nose with her shield arm but she thought it better than passing out from the smell.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the beacon burning right at the top of a tall tower.  Despite the smell, Maeve couldn’t help but smile.

“Good work, cousin.”

The smile faded as realization dawned on her.  Steady minutes of fighting and no sight of reinforcements.  The Teryn’s men weren’t coming.  Maeve turned and saw Kierin hacking his way through Darkspawn.  Even at her close proximity to him, she knew that there were too many.  They would overwhelm him.

“Kierin!” she cried.

He rammed the pommel of his sword into a Hurlock’s eye and then turned to face her.

“What?”

“The Teryn’s men.  They aren’t coming.”

He scowled. “Surprise, surprise.  A shemlen doesn’t keep their promise.”

Kierin ran the few paces to where she was.  The Darkspawn were pressing in behind him but they weren’t that close.  Not yet.

“Kie!”

The voice cut through the still, thick air sharply.  Maeve turned and saw a very frantic Theron running towards them.  His sodden braid thumped audibly against his back and blood was smeared down his entire right side.

“Lethallin!  You’re hurt!”

Theron stopped before them and narrowed his brow in confusion.  The fingers of his left hand went up and touched the dried blood on his arm.

“Oh...no, it’s not mine.  It’s...” He looked over his shoulder. “It’s Duncan’s.  He’s dead.”

Maeve widened her eyes.  Duncan was dead.

“The King, too.  Duncan said...he said we have to get out of here.  All four of us.  Where’s Cassan?”

He spoke quickly, one thought flowing quickly to the next, and Maeve wondered what he had seen.  This Theron was a far cry from the sarcastic, cocky archer who thought he was the bee’s knees even when dying.

“I saw her over with the mages,” Kierin reported. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine, lethallin.  Don’t worry.  We just have to find her and go.”

Maeve glared.

“And Devyn.  I am not leaving here without my cousin.”

Theron paused and looked back once again to where she presumed Duncan had fallen.  His face was remote as if something else was on his mind.  Something else he was told.

“We can’t,” he said finally. “There’s no time to make it to the Tower and back.  We can’t...we’d all die.”

She stood her ground, muscles rigid.  Maeve wasn’t even sure she could move if she wanted to.

“I can’t leave him.  I can’t.  I am supposed to protect him!”

Maeve remembered Aunt Adaia coming to her once when Devyn was a toddler.  It was maybe two years before the humans took her.  She had said that she had to watch over him.  Maeve never thought about it until later but she had realized that Aunt Adaia had to have known that her martial skills would get her arrested.

“You heard him,” Kierin argued.

“And...look, he and Alistair are together.  They can get themselves out.  We just have to go.  Now.”

Theron wasn’t meeting her eyes and she wondered if he felt guilty.

“We’ll grab Cassan as we leave,” Kierin said.  He flexed his muscles, which led her to believe that he physically meant to pick her up and haul her from the fighting.

Maeve closed her eyes and considered their words.  They were right but she felt awful.  Miserable.  Devyn was her baby cousin--her responsibility.  She always looked out for him, even when he complained.  Finally, she opened her eyes.

“Fine...let’s go.”

She began to walk behind the two Dalish.  Maeve let her eyes drift up to the beacon, still burning brightly against the night sky.

_I am so sorry, cousin..._


	4. Chapter 4

Soris wished it were raining.  The smell of smoke and death still hung in the air even days later.  The chill of a winter wind was beginning to set in, which just carried the stench far over the Alienage.  Soris slumped on his stool.  He didn’t want to be outside but he had to get out of Uncle Cyrion’s house.  He had been cooped up in there for too long.  Still, it had been Shianni’s idea for him to lay low, especially after the purge.  The purge.

Soris shuddered in memory of the past few days.  He didn’t regret killing Vaughan but he regretted what it did to his loved ones.  The last purge took his parents.  Though his mother’s illness wouldn’t have seen her through the season, she still went out fighting.  The memory was distant but he could still remember her screams and coughs echoing through the alienage as he hid, once again, at Uncle Cyrion’s.

All around him, people were rebuilding as best they could.  Every once in awhile, Elva would pass by where he was sitting and spit some vitriol about how it was his fault.  He let her because he knew that it was.  At least Nelaros next to him told her to leave it be.  Soris was ostensibly supposed to be helping him but he seemed to have his repairs under control.  Nelaros was making iron fixtures for doors whose bolts and hinges had melted beyond comprehension during the fires.

Tora and Halstred ran by, playing some sort of catch-me game with one another.  Soris couldn’t help but sigh at the sight of them.  The two of them were staying with his Uncle Cyrion as well.  After the riots, all elves were banned from leaving or entering the alienage.  That meant that their older brother Gunnar couldn’t come in from the Pearl after work to take care of them so, of course Uncle Cyrion stepped in.  Soris didn’t complain too much.  Taking care of the twins took his uncle’s mind off of worrying about Devyn.

As if conjured by his thoughts, Uncle Cyrion came around the corner.  Immediately, Tora and Halstred began bouncing around him.

“Serrah Tabris!  Serrah Tabris!” they chorused.

“I’ve got a loose tooth!” Tora said proudly.

“I’ve got _two_ loose tooths!” Halstred added, not to be outdone.

“Teeth,” Uncle Cyrion corrected with a smile.

“Teeth,” Halstred repeated seriously.

Soris caught Nelaros looking at them with a wistful smile and wondered if he and Maeve had ever talked about children before she left.  Valora was already teasing him about it so he figured two level-headed people like Maeve and Nelaros had to have at least discussed it.

“How are repairs going?  I see you’re hard at work, Soris.”

“Well it’s not like Nelaros really _needs_ my help,” he pointed out. “He’s got it covered.”

Uncle Cyrion laughed and shook his head before he turned back to the twins.  Tora tugged on her braids in excitement as she related some story about whatever mischief she and her brother got into that day.  Halstred was bouncing as well but had to stop to pull his shirt over his pudgy belly from where it rode up as he moved.

“Now, now, children...why don’t you both go wash up in the house?  I’ll be around in a little while to get dinner started.”

“Alright!” they shouted in unison.

Both of the twins ran to Uncle Cyrion’s house, each trying to beat the other one there.  Uncle Cyrion watched them leave and chuckled.

“I remember when you all were that age,” he remarked.

“We weren’t half as hyper,” Soris argued.

“Oh?” He raised his brows.

“Well...maybe a little.”

Uncle Cyrion ruffled his hair and Soris wriggled out of it.  He was a married man, now, and obviously no longer a child.  Yes, he was still _technically_ the youngest cousin but he went through the whole marriage thing.  He thought it would get him a little respect.

“Hello, Valendrian.”

Soris started at the sound of Nelaros’s voice.  Usually he remained totally silent as he worked and so he hadn’t heard the other man speak for at least three hours.  He looked over to see the elder approaching them, a somber expression on his face.  Soris realized that one person in particular wasn’t present.

“...Oh, Maker, what did Shianni do this time?”

Ever since the riots began, his cousin was getting more involved in alienage politics.  Worryingly involved.  Their family didn’t need any more tragedy.  Soris wished that Maeve was there to talk her out of it.  Valendrian simply shook his head.

“This isn’t about Shianni.  I...”

He paused and glanced between the three of them.

“I have news about the fight in the south.”

Soris saw Nelaros’s hand flex tightly around the handle of his hammer.

“What about it?” Uncle Cyrion asked.

“I got word that...the King is dead.”

Soris wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  The King seemed nice enough but he didn’t see why that upset Valendrian so.  Queen Anora would just step in and rule like it was rumored she did anyhow.

“What else?” Nelaros asked.

“...All the Grey Wardens were killed as well.”

Nelaros dropped his hammer.  It fell to the anvil with a bang and then landed heavily on the ground.  Uncle Cyrion turned and ran back towards his house.  It took Soris a moment to put it together.  All the Grey Wardens...that meant Devyn and Maeve.

“No,” he whispered.

Immediately, he got to his feet and went after his uncle.  While he felt bad for Nelaros as well, he knew that, to him, losing Maeve wasn’t the same as Uncle Cyrion losing Devyn.  He ran to his house and opened the door.

“Uncle?”

He didn’t see him in the main area of the house, which meant that he was over by the beds.  Tora and Halstred were at the table.  One held plates and the other utensils.  They had obviously been in the middle of setting it.

“Serrah Tabris went back there and started crying.” Tora’s eyes were wide.

“What happened?” Halstred asked.

The twins were far from being babies but Soris still didn’t know how to talk to them about what Valendrian just told them.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothin’,” Halstred said, narrowing his eyes. “Did something happen to Devyn?”

“Ah...later.  Go back to setting the table.”

Soris flapped a hand and went around the corner of the house to where the beds were.  Uncle Cyrion was bent over a trunk full of Devyn’s belongings.  Sobs wracked his body as he was doubled over, his face in his hands.

“Uncle...”

He walked forward and knelt beside him.

“He was all I had,” he whispered.

Uncle Cyrion lowered his hands and rested his forehead on the lid of the trunk.

“The report could be wrong,” he tried. “They could be fine...”

His uncle didn’t seem to hear him.  His hands curled towards his chest in a gesture that looked as though he were cradling a child.

“My little boy...”

Soris realized that none of his words were going to reach him and so he just put his arms around his uncle and let him cry.

\--

When Devyn awoke, he found himself in a bed.  More specifically, he found himself stripped to his smalls and in a bed.  He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head.

“Ah, your eyes finally open.”

Devyn started at the voice not just because of its sudden intrusion but that it was familiar to him.

“Whuh...?”

He looked around until his gaze settled on Morrigan--the girl from the Wilds.  Despite his still groggy state of mind, he could mostly put together that he was more than likely in the inside of that shack she and her mother shared.

“Y-you.  You were from the Wilds.”

A small, wry smile quirked on her lips.

“I see your memory fares well enough.  Do you recall mother’s rescue?”

“Res...cue?”

Devyn wracked his brain.  He remembered the tower.  Darkspawn flooded the upper level and killed the Circle Mage.  He was struck with arrows and...

“Your mother rescued me?”

Morrigan nodded. “Indeed.  She brought you here and healed your injuries.”

“Here...as in the Wilds?”

Another nod.

“And what happened to the battle?”

What he truly wanted to know was where Maeve was but he thought that saying so outright made him sound selfish.

“The man who was supposed to answer to your call retreated.  Those he left were slaughtered.  Your friend isn’t taking it well.”

“My friend...you mean Alistair?”

Morrigan lifted her hand and said, “Yes.  The suspicious, dim-witted one who was with you earlier.”

Devyn rubbed the back of his head again and tried to think.

“What about the others?  The other Warden recruits who came with us to the Wilds?  There was a woman--an elf, like me.  Well, we’re all elves but.  Um, she was kind of tall--taller than me, but then everyone’s taller than me--and had short hair.  Brown skin.  Uh, freckles.  Lots of ‘em.  Did your mother find her?”

Morrigan shook her head.

“No.  She went only to the tower.  Just you and the sulking dimwit out there.  If this woman was in the battle then she is most likely dead.”

Devyn stared at her for a moment as her blunt words processed in his mind.  Dead.  Maeve was dead.  For some reason, tears wouldn’t come.  He didn’t blink.  Couldn’t move.  Couldn’t think.  Maeve.  Gone.

“Was this woman someone special to you?”

Devyn almost didn’t hear the question.

“Yes...she was my cousin.”

“Then you have my condolences...though I suspect they mean little to you.”

Devyn said nothing in return, though he knew it impolite.  Maeve.  Gone.  He hugged his knees to his chest.  Morrigan cleared her throat and made a sweeping gesture with her arm.  Draped over a chair were his leathers that had apparently been lain out to dry.  His sword was propped against the chair and his mother’s boots were on the floor.  Devyn blinked his eyes and saw them without really seeing him.  His mind was moving like molasses.

“I will leave you to get changed.  Mother would like to speak with you outside.  The both of you.”

“Both of...oh, Alistair.” He had survived as well. “Is he alright?”

Morrigan shrugged and made a face.

“He is well, though I do think he’s being a bit of a baby about the whole thing.”

“Well, why wouldn’t he be?” Devyn blurted. “Everyone he knew just died!  People he counted as family!  All dead!”

He knew he was projecting just a little bit but Alistair had to be torn up inside.  Those other Grey Wardens--Grey Wardens Devyn hadn’t even gotten to meet--had to be like his family.  Morrigan shrugged again.

“I...suppose.” There was an uneasiness in her face that he couldn’t place. “I am going to fix supper...”

She turned and scurried to the back of the shack where a big, black pot was waiting.

“Morrigan,” he called.  His father always taught him to be polite even if your host was being rude. “Thank you.  For healing us.”

She skidded to a stop and her body went rigid.  Devyn couldn’t see her face but figured it had to have a look of shock on it.

“I...you’re welcome, though mother did most of the work.  I am no healer.”

Morrigan went back to the pot and Devyn watched her for a moment.  He bit back comments about her cooking, knowing that his opinion would not be appreciated.  Still, did she really need that much celery in a stew?

Instead of telling her so, Devyn got out of the bed and slowly began dressing himself.  The shirt hadn’t dried right and was wrinkled and sat wrong on his shoulders.  He could almost hear Maeve clucking her tongue and trying to situate it right.  His chest clenched.  Devyn took a deep, shaky breath and just concentrated on getting his armor back on.  His hand hovered over the boots.  His father said his mother made them for him when she carried him.  Tried to figure out what size his feet would be as an adult.  He wasn’t quite there but he was quite sure he had stopped growing.  The boots fit perfectly so she had been right in her guess.  Staring at them, another memory surfaced.  Just after she was taken away.  His father was inconsolable and couldn’t get out of bed.  Maeve had come to him and picked him up.  Said that she was going to be taking over his training.  Said she would never let anything happen to him.

Tears pricked his eyes finally but he swallowed them down.  He wasn’t going to face Morrigan’s mother with a bloated face and red eyes.  He would cry later.  Devyn slid the sword into the scabbard on his back and turned on his heel to leave the hut.

It was bright outside.  Too bright.  Light reflected off the swamp or lake or whatever disgusting, peat-filled body of water was outside the shack and made it all brighter.  Devyn took a step back and shielded his eyes.  His skin tingled already and he wished he had his salve.  His chest tightened again and a lump of salt formed at the back of his throat.  He wouldn’t even mind Maeve rubbing it on him while telling everyone about how sensitive his snow-white skin was.

“See.” The voice of Morrigan’s mother brought him back to reality. “Here is your fellow Grey Warden.  You worry too much, young man.”

Alistair had been looking out into that bog-pond and, at her voice, turned.  His eyes landed on Devyn’s.

“You...you’re alive.”

He spoke the words in a reverent whisper as though he couldn’t believe Devyn was actually standing there.  Before he could answer him, Alistair rushed forward and seized him by his upper arms.  Letting out a wild whoop of a laugh, he lifted Devyn into the air and spun him around.

“You’re alive!”

When he set him down, his heart was beating fast and his face was hot.  He cursed himself.  He shouldn’t be thinking about his little crush on Alistair at a time like this.  He should only be thinking about--

“They’re dead.  The King.  The others...Duncan...”

Alistair’s voice had gone somber.

“I know,” Devyn said.  He scuffed the toe of one boot over the other. “My cousin...she’s gone, too.”

“Oh...right...she’d...I’m sorry.” Alistair lowered his head and added, “If it weren’t for Morrigan’s mother, we’d be dead, too.”

“Do not speak of me as if I am not here, lad.”

Despite her words, Devyn detected a note of laughter in her voice.  Alistair turned round and slumped his shoulders forward.

“Sorry...I...we never got your name.”

Morrigan’s mother flapped a hand dismissively and said, “Names are pretty but useless.  If you need, you can call me Flemeth.”

Devyn felt his jaw go slack.

“ _The_ Flemeth?” he asked, giddy with excitement.

Next to him, Alistair let out a low whistle.

“Daveth was right.  You really are the Witch of the Wilds.”

Flemeth shrugged her stooped shoulders.

“My magic was useful to you both, wasn’t it?  What does it matter who I am?  Or would you have preferred I leave you both up in that Tower?”

“Ah...good point.  Gift horses and mouths and all.”

“Thank you, by the way,” Devyn added.  He pressed his hands together and bowed his head a little. “For saving us.”

A strange smile crossed Flemeth’s face.  It was bizarre and didn’t quite reach her eyes and the sight of it sent a chill down his spine.

“Oh, don’t thank me, lad.  I did what had to be done.  The rest is up to you.”

“Huh?”

Alistair nudged him a little and said, “The Blight.”

Blood rushed to his face and Devyn chomped down on his lower lip.  He had completely forgotten about the Blight.  He could almost picture Maeve scolding him for his memory but then told his mind to stop it.

“Oh...well...you’re the Grey Warden here,” he pointed out. “Not me.  I wasn’t even supposed to make it through the Joining.”

Alistair’s eyes went wide and a wounded expression crossed his face. “Don’t leave me...don’t...we’re the last Wardens in Ferelden.  You can’t just...”

Each mumbled, stilted word hurt and he immediately regretted his blunt, blurted words.  Alistair was right.  They had to stick together.

“I just...don’t know what to do.”

Alistair laughed--a cracked, bitter sound--and said, “Me neither.”

\--

Cassan pressed her knuckles against her closed eyes.  There was a fire burning in front of her but she couldn’t feel it.  A veneer of ice separated her from the outside world.  Everything was muffled.  She could never tell these others that, of course.  They would see her as weak and she didn’t want that.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and surveyed her fellow Wardens--now the only Wardens left in Ferelden.  Theron hadn’t washed Duncan’s blood off.  His braid hung sodden and heavy-looking over his shoulder and his gaze was blank.  He wasn’t even eating and that surprised her.  Kierin poked at the fire with the blade of his sword and said nothing.  Maeve was a ways away from them.  Her arms were wrapped around her bent legs and she hadn’t spoken since they left Ostagar.  Part of her wanted to comfort Maeve but she had no idea what to say.  “Sorry we made you leave your cousin to die?”  It didn’t sound sincere.

“Eat, lethallin.”

Kieirin handed Theron a piece of bread but the other elf refused with a small shake of his head.  Cassan realized that he hadn’t said a word since Ostagar either.  Kierin had come out of the darkness and told her that they had to go.  She had watched every mage she fought by be sizzled around her and so she’d agreed.  She remembered his eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the lack of a fight and she had nearly changed her mind just to spite him.

_Why?_ she wondered.

Why did she have to be contrary for the sake of being contrary?  Cassan pressed her fingers against her pounding temples, not wanting to think about it any longer at that moment.

“Do you hear that?” Kierin lifted his head.

Cassan craned her neck to the side as if that would give her more acute hearing.  She couldn’t hear much beyond the sound of wind moving through the trees of the Wilds.  According to Kierin, they were on their way to a town called Lothering to resupply and get their bearings.  He’d said that he and Theron knew it since it was a central town located between rivers.  He’d also said that it was a mostly safe place for their Clan to trade with Shemlen without incident.  Kierin had been talking a lot since they left, she’d noticed but, then again, maybe he felt he had to.  Theron was in a state of shock and Maeve was grieving her cousin and Cassan was...in her ice cocoon as she attempted to process what happened at the battle.  Even so, she spoke more than the other two but that was hardly saying much.

“Hear what?” she asked finally.

Kierin held a hand up and slowly got to his feet.  He picked up Theron’s bow and clumsily held it in front of him.  Cassan rolled her eyes.  He clearly wasn’t meant to be an archer.  He notched an arrow only for the tip to slide down and slip from his fingers to fall to the ground.  She suppressed a laugh.  He swore under his breath in what she figured was Elvish.  Outside a small handful of terms that made their way into city elf (or Circle elf, she supposed, as the case may be) life, she had no grasp of their tongue.

“Something’s coming,” Kierin said.

He dropped the bow and went for his sword.  Cassan reached out and wrapped her hand around the shaft of her staff.  She hoped it wasn’t more Darkspawn.  She didn’t want to deal with them again so soon.

The two of them stood at the ready, facing the trees around them.  Cassan could hear it now, too, the sound of footsteps.  She got to her feet and began summoning what was left of her mana to form a spirit bolt in her hand.  The creature broke from the treeline and tackled Kierin to the ground.  He let out a cry as the beast began licking his face.

_Licking his face?_

Cassan exhaled a sigh of relief that she quickly disguised as a cough as she saw what ambushed their makeshift camp.  It was a dog.  Even with her sheltered life in the Circle, though, Cassan had been exposed to enough Fereldan culture to know that this wasn’t just any dog--it was a Mabari hound.  A Mabari hound who was, right now, aggressively licking Kierin’s face.  The Dalish giggled and wriggled under the dog’s onslaught, looking the least surly she’d seen him look since meeting him at his Clan’s camp--when he was conscious anyhow.

Maeve looked over at the spectacle but said nothing.  Theron didn’t even move.

Finally, Kierin got the dog off of him.  The great beast barked happily and bounced around his legs.

“I think this is the dog I helped at Ostagar,” he remarked.

“You mean the dog you helped for a reward?” she replied archly.

“A reward I didn’t even get...”

The dog barked happily.

“I think he was looking for you...I’ve read about Mabari.  They’re like that.”

Kierin stared at the dog’s waiting face and adopted his surly expression again.

“I don’t want a dog.”

The dog seemed to hear this and bounded over to where Theron sat.  He licked the elf’s cheek and got a small, soft giggle out of him--the first sound he’d made in two days.  Kierin watched the scene and bit the side of his lip.

“Well...maybe he can stick around...for a little while.”

Maeve looked up and aimed a sad smile at the dog.

“You know, in the old days, when the Wilds were crawling with werewolves, Mabari hounds helped keep people safe.”

Cassan frowned.  She hadn’t heard that legend.

“Where’d you hear that?”

Maeve’s face creased with anguish and she turned away.

“Somewhere.”

\--

“Where are we going again?” Devyn asked.

“Lothering,” Morrigan replied. “It is the closest town.”

Her response was surly but Devyn couldn’t really blame her.  She had to be upset that her mother had forced to go along with he and Alistair to help them on their quest.  Quest.  Devyn nearly giggled to himself.  They were on a quest, weren’t they?  Just like in the stories.  Using their treaties to unite the land against the Blight and against a usurper.  It was just like a ballad.  Devyn hoped that if their journey was made into a ballad, they described him as being taller than he was.

He glanced back at Alistair to share his sudden thought about ballads and quests but stopped himself.  Alistair was trailing behind them, arms dangling miserably at his sides.  His head was bowed and there was a pinched look of sadness on his face.  Devyn fell back so they were somewhat in step--it took two of his own short, shuffling steps to keep up with Alistair’s stride--and put a hand on his arm.

“Hey...do you want to talk about Duncan?”

Alistair looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “I know you didn’t know him as well as I did.”

Devyn shrugged a little.

“Yeah but...he was important to you.  I understand that.”

He thought again of Maeve and a lump formed in the back of his throat.

“I should have handled it better...I should have...we can all die.  Duncan knew that--I knew that.  And yet it hurts so much.”

Devyn smiled a little for his benefit. “It’s fine, Alistair.  Even if death is a possibility, it’s okay to grieve however you do.”

His face cleared a little.

“Thank you...Devyn?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you...ever had someone close to you die?”

Irritation flared in his chest then and he tried to keep it down.  It was perfectly fine for Alistair to be wrapped up in his own sadness about Duncan and the others.  He didn’t have to know about Devyn’s loss.  Yet still, as he spoke, his tone was a little petulant.

“Alistair, my cousin died at Ostagar, too.”

His eyes went wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, right...Maker, I’m so sorry, Devyn.  I must sound like the most selfish arse right now.”

He couldn’t help but smile at him.  Alistair was like a humanized puppy.  For some reason, it made him like him more.

“It’s alright.  No harm done.  And you only sounded like the second most selfish arse.”

Alistair punched him playfully in the arm, smiling.  His expression was a little brighter and Devyn was glad to make it so.  He knew what loss was like.  He’d lived with it in the alienage.  If he could make Alistair feel even a little better, then he’d do it happily.

“Tell me about Duncan,” he said. “I only knew him for a couple weeks on our way down here.”

An awestruck look came on Alistair’s face and he glanced up at the sky, smiling.

“Duncan was...he had this air about him.  You just felt safe.  When he was around, you thought that nothing bad was going to happen because he’d make sure of it.  He...cared about us, too.  The Wardens.  The new recruits...me.  I guess I wasn’t used to that.”

“How come?”

He shrugged and said, “My father...the man who I was told was my father died and Arl Eamon--you remember, the one we’re going to see--raised me and then sent me to the monastery when I was ten.  Duncan was the first person to notice me and maybe...see something there.  He’s...he was...”

His voice caught and Devyn saw tears hovering on his eyelids.

“You don’t have to--”

Alistair cut him off with a shake of his head.

“No, it’s fine.  Duncan was just...he made everything alright.  Being a Warden.  Fighting Darkspawn.  Even though I was fighting for my life, it was the safest I ever felt.  Duncan made me feel that way.”

Devyn looked at him and his eyes widened with realization.  Alistair was in love with Duncan.  He didn’t know it--by his word, he could tell that he thought it merely some sort of familial bond--but Devyn could see it in the way he spoke and the way his eyes shone.  He had been in love.  His chest clenched in a strange way.  Partly, he felt so strongly for Alistair’s lost affection for Duncan but a more selfish part of him was jealous.  Jealous of a dead man.

_Way to go, you fucking arse._

“Do you...want to talk about Maeve?”

He shook his head. “No, I...”

The lump came back and Devyn forced it down, eyes squeezed shut.  Alistair nodded like he understood and maybe he did.  They walked side by side, letting Morrigan lead the way since she was the only one who knew how to get to Lothering anyhow.

They set up camp that night along the Imperial Highway.  Devyn pitched his tent right up against the stone side so he could lean against the wall.  It was then, when the exhaustion of the day got to him and the finality of it all hit him.  He was one of the two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden.  His cousin, the person who had protected him his entire life, was dead.

It was then that he finally let himself cry.

\--

He was walking...somewhere.  Head down, legs moving.  That was all that mattered.  Voices were muffled around him.  Cassan’s high, petulant tones.  Kierin’s gruff, guttural growl.  He held his own arms but let go because he was still sticky with Duncan’s blood.  It had been two days and he hadn’t bathed.  Hadn’t washed it off.  Every time he looked at it and thought about it, he saw Duncan.  Gripping his arms and making him promise.  Promise to get the others out.  Promise to find Alistair.  He hadn’t done that one.  He had let Duncan down.  His words “without the king...without Alistair...” he had no idea what it meant but it had to have been important.  Duncan had trusted the wrong elf.  He was selfish and awful--he’d wanted to save himself.

And now Alistair was dead.  Devyn, too.  Maeve blamed him, had to blame him.  He blamed himself.

The dog bounced around his feet, nosing the backs of his knees with its cold, wet nose.  He would reach down and pet it--with his left hand, the one not smeared with blood.

“...needs to eat.”

Kierin’s voice.  He could tell.  Talking about him.  Theron looked at him but said nothing.

“That’s right, lethallin.  I’m talking to you.  You need to eat.  It’s been two days.”

Two days.  Probably the longest he’d gone without a meal.  He couldn’t remember the last time he missed one.  Back with their Clan, the Keeper always joked that his and Tamlen’s appetites were so voracious that if they were allowed to eat their fill, there would be no food left for anyone else.  Tamlen--another pang of hurt.  Tamlen was gone.  His fault, too.  He should have tried harder to get him not to touch the mirror.  Tamlen, his best friend...his lover.  He couldn’t do one thing for him.  Just like Duncan.

The stone was hard under his feet.  He didn’t like the Imperial Highway.  Their Clan avoided it.  Too many Shemlen.  Too many dangerous Shemlen.  Down south it was cold, too.  He’d taken his boots off earlier and now his toes were numb.

“Look alive, gents.” A new voice. “More travelers--a group of elves of all things.”

The voice was jovial but forcibly so.  Theron made himself look up.  Many men.  Armed men.  He tensed.  He didn’t want more fighting, more death.  Not so soon.  He used to love brawling.  Getting his knuckles bloodied and his eyes bruised.  This wasn’t brawling, though.  He closed his eyes and saw Cailan’s body being flung through the air.

“Uh...” a low voice now. “Maybe we should let these four pass.  They don’t look like no refugees.”

Theron felt this man’s beady eyes on him.  Taking bites out of him.  He tensed more, feeling rigid and unmoving.  Stone.  He wished he was stone.

“You should listen to your friend,” Kierin said icily. “We’re not refugees.”

“See?” The man’s gaze didn’t move from Theron.

“Nonsense!  The toll is for all travelers, not just refugees.  Why, if it was, he could just call it a refugee tax!”

“Ohhh...you still gotta pay.”

Kierin’s fists clenched. “We’re not paying.”

“My, my...that is a shame.  You see, we have rules.”

The man watching Theron nodded.  He was bald or had a shaved head.  Big, too.  Big and beefy and powerful-looking.  His continued gaze on him turned his stomach but still he said nothing.

“We can let ‘em slide if I get some time with the pretty one,” he said, turning to the leader. “Right?”

His hand closed around Theron’s wrist and pulled him close.  His breath smelled like distilled rye and something putrid that he couldn’t place.

“Lookit the pretty elf.  Can we take this one with us?  He can be the toll!”

“I don’t see why not,” the leader said.  Theron felt his leer burning at his back.

He shook, panicked.  Saw Kierin reaching for his sword.  Maeve had her shield out already and Cassan was summoning something to her hand.  The dog bent low to the ground, lips pulled back in a snarl.  Theron didn’t want these bandits doing anything to them.  Not again.  Not so soon.

He gritted his teeth and spat in the man’s face.

“Get your hands _off_ me, Shemlen,” he growled, his voice cracking from disuse.

Instinct took in, and he used his free hand to grab a knife from his waist.  He pressed the blade against the man’s throat.

“Ooh, this one has got fight in him!” the leader crowed.

Theron ripped it across the big man’s throat and whirled around to throw it into the leader’s chest.  The surrounding bandits got up, weapons out.  Still, they hung back, not wanting to go near him.  Theron looked at their bodies lying around him and then doubled up and vomited all over the bridge.

He felt a hand heavy on his shoulder and he looked up to see Kierin’s face.  Hazel eyes watching him with concern.  Mouth set in a worried line as opposed to his usual surly pout.

“Come on, lethallin...it’s alright.”

To the bandits, he said, “Look what one of us did to two of you.  Do you really want to fight Grey Wardens?”

Murmurs rose up from the bandits and they shuffled away, leaving the bodies of their leader and his apparent second-in-command.  Theron retrieved his knife from the man’s chest with numb fingers.  The dog bound up to him and licked his hand.  A weird, dog-smile was on its face.  Theron smiled back.

\--

“There.  Lothering.  Pretty as a picture.”

Alistair’s words were forced to sound cheerful and he knew it.  Devyn gave him a sympathetic look and Morrigan rolled her eyes.

“I see you have finally rejoined us.  Was falling on your sword in grief too much effort?”

He opened his mouth to say something but Devyn beat him to it.

“Morrigan, will you lay off?  Alistair and I have both lost a lot in the past few days.  You don’t get our grief, I understand.  You didn’t want to come with us, I understand.  But just.  Lay.  Off.”

She stared at him for a moment, her painted lips in an “o” of shock.  She regained her cool composure a beat later.

“Hmmm...I didn’t know you had a backbone,” she remarked with a small giggle. “I like it.”

Alistair felt his hackles rise.  Morrigan tilted her head to the side and smiled at Devyn flirtatiously.  His chest tightened with...jealousy?  Was he jealous?  That didn’t make any sense.  Why would he be jealous that Morrigan was flirting with Devyn?

He didn’t seem to be responding to it, anyway.  In fact, a look of confusion was etched on his scarred face as she smiled at him.  For some reason, that was a comfort to him.  Alistair shook his head.  The important thing wasn’t...whatever these emotions were.  They had to resupply and find a safe place to make camp and plan their next move.

“Have you gotten a look at the treaties yet?”

Devyn took his gaze from Morrigan’s to meet his and nodded.

“Yeah...I mean, they were pretty straight forward.  I know where the Tower is and how to get to Orzammar and junk from books but...uh...how are we going to find a Dalish camp?  Theron and Kierin said--” his voice caught a little and Devyn swallowed.  Alistair understood.  Both of them were dead, too. “They said that their Clan was moving north to the Free Marches.  I don’t know where another Clan is.”

Alistair didn’t have an answer to that.

“Maybe we can...wander around the Brecilian Forest until we find one?” he tried.

Devyn furrowed his brow. “Alistair, have you heard anything about the Brecilian Forest?  It’s a maze!  Full of ghosts and werewolves and monsters!”

Morrigan rolled her eyes and flapped a hand dismissively.

“Please.  Those are just stories.”

He turned on her. “Just like how the Witch of the Wilds is ‘just a story’ too, huh?”

Morrigan smiled that odd smile again.

“Alright, you have me there.”

Devyn hitched a shoulder up in a half-shrug.

“We can figure it out later.  Let’s just go resupply and leave before whoever killed those bandits back there on the highway comes back.”

As a group, they walked into the village proper.  Surrounding it, Alistair could see that refugee camps were already being set up.  Further into the town, he saw caravans being packed.  Lothering knew about the Blight, that was for certain.  Devyn wandered over to a trio of miserable-looking elves and Alistair was at first tempted to follow him.  He shook his head.  He was following him but he didn’t have to...follow him.  Instead, he looked at the sword strapped across Devyn’s back and remembered something he had said what felt like eons ago.

A harried shopkeeper was leaning against a caravan, a scowl on his face.  His face lightened a little when Alistair made his purchase.

He walked back to where Devyn was still talking to that elven family.  He had put some coin in the father’s hand and was pointing up to the highway.  The whole trio of them smiled at whatever he said and then left.

“Hey,” Alistair said, joining him once he was done. “I think I made you a promise back at the Tower of Ishal, didn’t I?”

Devyn’s brows knit together in confusion so Alistair just held his present out.  His eyes lit up as his small, delicate-looking hands shot out to grab the handle of the battleaxe.

“Wow!  Oh--wow!  Thank you Alistair!” he exclaimed.

For a moment, he thought he was going to hug him but he didn’t.  Instead, he reached behind himself and took off his sword, scabbard and all.

“Here, let’s see what we can get for this.”

Alistair pursed his lips.  He had seen Devyn’s sword.  It was maybe made of iron and was dinged and rusted in some spots.  That shopkeeper had been unscrupulous when Alistair had picked out the axe.  They probably wouldn’t get more than a few coppers.  So he said as much.  Devyn shook his head.

“No, I know how to barter.  My...uh...” His cheeks went red. “The closest thing I’ve had to an actual lover...was the shopkeeper in the alienage.”

He tried to picture Devyn’s lover.  A pretty elf girl behind a counter, counting out coins and laughing at something Devyn said.

“She was lucky.”

“He,” Devyn corrected. “Alarith--he was from Tevinter.”

“He?” Alistair was surprised when he heard Morrigan’s voice chime in with his.

Devyn flicked his eyes between them, a wry smile on his face.

“Yeah...?  I sleep with men.  Exclusively.”

Alistair frowned.  Men who slept with men?  That was a thing.  An old memory bubbled up in his mind, two of the older boys at the chantry.  He’d thought they were brawling in their recruit plate.  He’d seen one of the boys shoot his hand out to grab the front of the other’s armor and drew their lips together into a kiss.  Alistair had only been thirteen and hadn’t gotten it at all.  Even at twenty, he still didn’t get it.

“I do not...” Morrigan frowned and her eyes moved slightly to the side as though she were wracking her brain to think where she may have heard something before.

“Do you both...not know?” Devyn asked with a laugh. “Okay, see it like this.  You and Morrigan can like each other.”

At the same time, both he and Morrigan made awful retching sounds.  Devyn held his hands out in a placating manner.

“Calm down.  This is theoretical.  Okay, so you and Morrigan can like each other.  But Alistair can like that guy over there either as well as Morrigan or exclusively from Morrigan where he doesn’t fancy her.  Same with Morrigan.  She can like that chantry sister or you or both or neither.  It’s a fluid thing.”

“Fluid?” Alistair repeated.

He nodded. “Yeah.  You both have seriously never heard of it?”

Devyn laughed again, putting a glove hand over his mouth to try to hide it.

“Well, I guess it makes sense.  You were raised in the chantry and you were raised in the swamp.”

Alistair had to give him that.  Other than those two boys he had never...even thought or heard about such a thing.  He wanted to ask Devyn more but they were all distracted by sudden voice.

“Mo-ther!”

Devyn turned, apparently attuned to helping the downtrodden, and trotted over to where a little redheaded boy stood.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

The boy turned wide eyes on him. “Another elf!  An elf told me to wait in the chantry for my mother but I’m going to wait for her a little longer before I go in.”

“Fascinating,” Morrigan said dryly. “I believe we were going to sell a sword, remember?”

“He didn’t look like you,” the boy continued. “He was big and... _big_!  And he had yellow hair and squiggles on his face.  He had a giant sword like that, though.”

Devyn frowned and Alistair did along with him.  From the child’s description, it sounded as though he was talking about Kierin but that was impossible.  Every Grey Warden died, the burly Dalish included.

“Was he with a group?” Devyn asked, voice suddenly loud. “More than one elf?”

“Hmmm....uh-uh.  Just him.”

He saw the look of disappointment come onto Devyn’s face and he fought back the sudden urge to draw him into his arms.  He got the implication.  If Kierin did survive Ostagar, then Maeve still hadn’t.

“Come on...” Devyn said miserably. “Let’s sell the sword in the tavern, there.  We’ll probably get a better deal.”

They trudged over the bridge at a snail’s pace because he and Morrigan were still following Devyn who shuffled and dragged his feet.  His moment of hope had been squashed and Alistair figured that it felt like he was losing her all over again.

Devyn didn’t even seem to cheer up that the tavern was called Dane’s Refuge.  In their trip from the Wilds, he had had many stories to tell about the famous Dane and his encounters with werewolves.

Slowly, he pushed the door open and no sooner were they in the tavern, did a loud booming voice call out to them.

“Well, well, well.  Looks like we’ve been blessed.”

Alistair saw a group of armored men striding towards them.  One already had his shield slid into his arm and Alistair’s breath caught when he saw the golden drake painted onto its curved, metal surface.

“Loghain’s men,” he whispered.

The captain--the one who spoke anyhow and the only one not wearing a helmet--strode up to them, arms spread out.

“Didn’t we spend all morning asking about a twitchy blond kid and a runty little elf traveling together?” another man in the group asked.  His lips were curved back in a sneer. “And nobody said they saw ‘em.”

The captain turned his face a little over his shoulder to speak to him. “It seems we were lied to.”

Next to him, Alistair caught Devyn cracking his knuckles.  Did he actually want to fight these men?  There were at least seven of the men and three of them--two if Morrigan didn’t feel like helping out.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!”

Alistair rubbed his temples.  So many new people talking at once and he was starting to hurt his neck turning to look at them all.  This newcomer had peeled herself away from the chantry sisters handing out provisions in the corner.  She had bluntly cut red hair that hit her chin and framed her heart-shaped face.

“There is no reason that this cannot be resolved peacefully,” the sister said, her voice lightly peppered with an Orlesian accent. “I will point out that there are many innocent civilians in the tavern.”

The sister had her hands tucked into the sleeves of her robes.  Alistair had spent ten years at a monastery and had never seen a sister walk in such a way.  Maybe they did in Orlais and when she came to Ferelden, she kept up the habit.

“These men left the King to die!” the captain argued. “And if you defend them, sister, you share their fate.”

Anger burned in Alistair’s chest.

“That’s not true!” he barked out. “Loghain abandoned us!  He let the King die!   _He let Duncan die!_ ”

Devyn flexed his fists. “If they want a fight, they can come get it or else go off and jerk themselves off thinking about their own self-importance.”

The sister shook her head.

“Oh, it was silly to try and convince these men otherwise,” she said to Alistair and Devyn. “They’ve been tromping around the town for hours.  You may as well give them what they want.”

Devyn grinned and said, “Gladly!”

He cocked his fist back and punched one of the helmeted men square in the face.  As he tried to recover, he reached behind himself to grab at the axe.  Alistair quickly drew his own sword, not wanting to be left behind.  Something cold went by his ear and he glanced over his shoulder to see that Morrigan had just frozen one of the men.  A wild smile was on her face and, truthfully, it kind of scared him.

The sister pulled her hands from the sleeves of her robes and revealed a knife she had been keeping hidden there.  Moving surprisingly fast in her heavy chantry robes, she leapt into the fight, whirling and twirling her singular knife as she struck at the men.

The space in the tavern was cramped and the refugees had flattened themselves against the wall, lest they get caught in the crossfire.  Between the four of them, they managed to knock off the majority of the men until only the captain remained.

“Alright, alright!” he called, breathless.  The swaggering bravado from before was gone and now fear was etched onto his face. “I surrender!”

Alistair exhaled a sigh of relief and sheathed his sword.

“Good,” the sister said, a serene smile on her face. “Now we can all stop fighting.”

Devyn spat onto the ground and shook his head. “No way!  They were going to kill us!  We should return the favor!”

Alistair was surprised at his sudden anger.  This was a far cry from the sweet, slightly strange boy he had been traveling with for the past few days.

“No, no, please!” the captain begged.

“He surrendered,” the sister said, voice firm.

Devyn’s shoulders dropped and he sighed.

“Alright, fine.  But he’s going to take a message to Loghain.”

The captain’s head bobbed nervously on his shoulders.

“Yes, yes, anything.  What do you want to say?”

He lifted his fist once more and punched the captain right in the nose.  Alistair winced when he heard the sound of cartilage breaking.  His nose bled like a popped cherry.

“Tell him that the Grey Wardens _know_ what he did.  And we’re coming for him.”

The captain had both hands clamped over his nose and he nodded.

“Yes, of course.  Right away.” His voice sounded clogged from the blood.

The captain pushed by them and ran out the door.  Devyn’s booted foot kicked one of the corpse’s of Loghain’s men lightly.  Alistair watched him, wondering where that anger had come from.

“You were brave to stand up to those men,” he said earnestly because he was.  Just as he was brave to flip that ogre over his shoulder back at the Tower.

“Reckless,” Devyn corrected, his voice low. “I don’t think before I act...I shouldn’t have just plowed into that fight.  I never...”

His voice caught and Alistair had no idea why nor did he have a clue how to comfort him.  Luckily, the sister seemed to notice the moment of discomfort and stepped in.  Her knife was gone, probably hidden back in her sleeve.

“I am sorry to just step in but...I felt I had to.  I am Leliana, a lay sister here at the chantry.”

Devyn looked up and smiled a pained smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m Devyn.  This is Alistair, and Morrigan.”

Behind them, Alistair saw several people coming to take the bodies away.  An old, heavyset man gave them a wink as he dragged one of the armored men into a back room.

“I heard those men say that you were Grey Wardens.”

“No we’re not,” Alistair answered quickly.

She let out a soft giggle. “And you yourself said you were Grey Wardens.”

“Oh, right...we did do that, didn’t we?”

“Either way, I am joining you on your quest!”

Alistair blinked his eyes, wondering if he missed a crucial part of discussion that led to Leliana inviting herself along.

“Um...” Devyn gave him a sideways glance that said he was just was confused. “Why?”

“Because the Maker told me to.”

“Oh, is that all?” Morrigan asked, laughing.

“I suppose it’s better than coming along because your mommy said so,” Alistair pointed out.

Morrigan stomped on his foot but he couldn’t feel it through the iron that reinforced the toes of his boots.  She must have, though, because her face screwed up in pain and she leapt backwards.  Alistair stuck his tongue out at her in victory.

“I know that sounds--”

Devyn cut her off. “I don’t want to sound like a jerk but I don’t really believe in the Maker.  I don’t want Him interfering in my life.”

“I...well...He wouldn’t be.  I would be.  And, you see, I had a vision but I am not the Maker and I do not speak for Him.”

Alistair was surprised that she made no squawk of disapproval for Devyn’s lack of belief.  All of the sisters and mothers (and brothers) he’d known growing up would take the willow to you for saying you didn’t believe.

“Well...alright.  I’m not gonna turn down help when it’s offered,” Devyn said.  He had a goofy smile on his face while he looked at Leliana.

Again, Alistair’s chest clenched with jealousy.  He didn’t understand it.  Devyn was his friend and, besides, he had told him and Morrigan that he only slept with men.

Leliana pressed her hands together and smiled widely.

“Oh, excellent!  I am going to go pack my things.  Meet me at the bridge, alright?”

She darted past them and out of the tavern.  Devyn watched her go.

“She seemed nice.”

\--

Leliana was surprised to see the living quarters occupied when she returned to the chantry for her belongings.  Everyone was supposed to be out helping the refugees or collecting tithe.  Instead, she found two people in the baths.

They didn’t seem to notice her so she watched them quietly as she began getting her things together.  They seemed to be of medium height.  One was in the bath and the other was helping them.

“I can’t believe the revered mother let me bathe after we refused tithe,” one said in a lilting, melodic voice.

“I can.” The other spoke more gruffly. “Have you smelled yourself lately?”

“Ma abelas, lethallin.  I was kind of in shock for the past two days.  A little sympathy would be nice.”

“Ack, you can’t milk that forever, you know!”

Leliana frowned.  Something about their accents was strange.  The language as well.  It struck her suddenly that they were peppering their speech with Elvish words.  They were elves!

“I was at least nice about refusing tithe,” the first one, melody voice, said. “If we asked for donations to the Creators, Shemlen would be up in arms, ready to kill us.  And the chantry would look the other way.”

Leliana wanted to argue with them but she also wanted to get back to the Grey Wardens.  She began quickly packing her things.  She exchanged her robes for her old traveling leathers.  She had discarded her leather armor due to the memories it held.  She had also gotten rid of her ornate bow and now the one she hid among her belongings was far simpler.  She wouldn’t have minded that bow with its intricate carvings and beautiful pearlescent color but it was just another reminder.

“We’re going to that tavern, right?” Melody, as she mentally dubbed him, asked. “I’m starving.”

“Go back to not talking,” Gruff replied.

She heard the sound of someone being splashed and stifled a laugh.

\--

Devyn wrinkled his nose and leaned over the pot.  Without asking, he picked a spoon up off of the table next to it and dipped it into the broth.

“It needs seasoning,” he remarked after tasting it.

The cook at Dane’s Refuge gave him a disgusted look.

“Get your bleeding nose out of my pot, knife-ear,” she snapped.

He scowled back and reached past her for some salt.

“Your soup is unseasoned!  The people are out there are refugees!  They’re scared.  They deserve food that doesn’t taste like nothing!”

He sprinkled a pinch into the soup and tasted it again.

“There.  It’s a little better.  But there’s too many potatoes.  They’ll suck up all the moisture and be soggy.  And not in a good way.”

The cook eyed him strangely but, when she tasted the soup herself, he caught her nod her head a little to his addition.  Devyn licked his lips.  The small taste of soup wasn’t near enough to sate his appetite.  He’d been extremely hungry lately and he didn’t know why.  He wasn’t a particularly voracious eater.  In fact, he liked making food for other people much more than he liked eating it himself.

“Fine, it’s better,” she relented. “Now to the void with you, you bleeding elf.”

The cook gestured angrily towards the door and Devyn started towards it with a shrug.

“You too, you great brute!”

He turned round to see the cook shooing away Alistair as he sniffed around the pot of soup.  Morrigan laughed loudly.  The three of them had gone back once he’d heard from the innkeeper that they were out of food.

“What do you mean you’re out of food!”

Devyn paused, his hand on the handle to the door.  He frowned at the splintering wood.  He knew that voice.  It was accented but not in a way that was Fereldan or Orlesian or even Antivan.  The voice was also melodious and lilting as though the person sang even when they were speaking.  The fact that the voice’s owner was complaining about the lack of food made guessing who it was even more obvious.

He threw the door open.

“Theron?!”

The Dalish turned from arguing with Old Barlin and turned.  His eyes went wide and he put his fingers to his mouth.

“Devyn?”

He rushed forward and grabbed him by the elbows.  The result of him moving so fast made Theron’s braid swing around and hit Devyn in the chest.

“By the Creators, you’re alive!” he exclaimed.

“I am, too,” Alistair said behind him, the tone of his voice betraying the pout that was more than likely on his lips.

Theron looked up. “Oh, right.  You are!”

A sudden smile spring onto his face and he mouthed something under his breath that Devyn didn’t quite catch.  What he did catch, however, was Morrigan’s eyes trailing up and down Theron’s long, lean body.

“It is interesting to see you when you are not half-dead from the Taint,” she remarked with an artful curve of her lips. “Very interesting.”

Theron smirked and put his hands on his hips.  There was no denying his beauty but Devyn personally found Alistair more attractive.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Devyn said, his eyes wide. “How did you--?”

Theron turned a hand out. “Later.”

He wanted to question him further.  If he was alive and if the elf who helped that little boy was indeed Kierin, then maybe Maeve was with them.  However, Theron just beckoned them towards the door.

“Come on.  I think Kie has some food, anyhow.” He glared over his shoulder at Old Barlin and put a hand over his stomach.

Devyn reached forward to grab the handle but Theron’s hand shot out and stopped him.

“Wait.  I have an idea.  I’m going to go out and you lot wait here.  I’ll open the door for you.” There was a mischievous glint in his eye.

Without waiting for an answer, he slipped outside and shut the door to the tavern behind him.  Devyn decided to wait.  It wasn’t for whatever plan the Dalish had come up with but because he was worried.  Worried about getting his hopes up only to find out that Maeve was still dead.

“They were out of food.”

Theron’s voice was slightly muffled by the wood.

“I told you I have food in my pack.  I’ll feed you, lethallin.”

He frowned at the sound of Kierin’s voice.  Only hearing them, Kierin sounded far different than Theron.  It wasn’t just the tones of their voices: Theron’s lilting melody compared to Kierin’s gruff intonations.  Kierin’s accent was different.  It was similar enough to Theron’s but it sounded more adopted than natural.  Then again, he vaguely remembered being told that Kierin had originally come from another Clan.  Merrill, the elf who had accompanied them to the cave, had come from another Clan as well and her accent was different.  That had to be the case.

“The tavern did have this, though.”

The door opened and Devyn stepped out warily.  He found the two Dalish and his eyes found Cassan’s.  Next to her was a dog and beside the dog was--

“Cousin Maeve!” he exclaimed loudly.

“Devyn!”

He rushed to her and hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go.  Maeve was alive.  They were all alive.  She let go for a moment and scrutinized his face.  Her brow was puckered and her lips were turned down in a frown.

“You haven’t been wearing your salve.  You’re all burned.”

“Well I didn’t have it,” he argued, already feeling petulant.  He embraced the feeling, though.  He didn’t mind if she embarrassed him in front of everyone.

“Have you been eating right?” she asked.

“Uh...” Actually, he couldn’t remember what he ate last.  Only that it barely curbed his hunger.

“Devyn Andreas Tabris...” she said warningly.

“Maeve!” he whined at the usage of his full name. “I haven’t been eating much of anything.  S’not like I’ve been eating sweets.”

She sighed. “Of course you haven’t.  You’re skin and bones.  Burned skin and bones.”

Devyn sighed.  Alright, maybe he minded a little if she embarrassed him in front of everyone.  Instead of letting loose another motherly worry, Maeve pulled him back into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re alright, cousin,” she whispered.

He hugged her back. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized that, just by reading it, it seems like Kierin and Theron have rhyming names. Kierin is actually pronounced "Kee-ay-ron" and Theron is pronounced "Thee-RON."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eventually they'll get some sort of Blight-busting under way.

Sten had spent thirty days watching and observing and he had gotten very good at it.  Days spent alone in that cage, finding objects that began with certain letters.  It was better than thinking of his own failure.

Now he observed these elves, these Wardens.  He doubted their claims.  The Dalish with the black hair had freed him from his cage.  He walked ahead, his steps at once a lope and a skip.  He held a meat-stuffed roll in each hand and took turns biting from them as he walked.  The other Dalish was alongside him.  Sten had little respect for him with his shorn hair and his churlish expression.

The small one, the child, walked with the sole human among the Wardens.  He gestured wildly as he spoke, small hands fluttering near his face.  He was scarred as though he had seen many battles but also young.  If this child had seen combat then what he knew about Ferelden prior to coming here was wrong.  With them was the freckled Warden.  Sten liked her best, better than the petulant bas-saarebas, the child and his human, the gluttonous Dalish who freed him and his angry friend.  The non-Wardens’ presence surprised him but he said nothing.  If these six were Wardens at all would be surprising.

“You...Warden.”

Six heads turned towards him.  Sten sighed.

“Fine...gluttonous Dalish.”

The elf turned, eyes wide.  He swallowed the food in his mouth.

“What did you call me?”

“I do not know your name and so only know your actions.”

“I am not gluttonous!”

Next to him, the angry one laughed.

“You’re eating right now, lethallin.”

“Because I haven’t eaten in two days!”

“And what about all the other times you stuff your face?”

The two began bickering between each other and Sten realized his question would go unanswered.

He was beginning to wish that he had been left in that cage.

\--

Devyn bit his lip in concentration as he turned the makeshift spit.  Theron had brought back several plump rabbits that he had promptly skinned and tossed onto a rag.  Devyn was setting about cooking them but, truthfully, they never had rabbit back in the alienage.  It was usually lesser parts of pigs or chicken.  Still, he had yet to meet a food item he couldn’t cook so it didn’t deter him.

“We’re letting him cook?” Kierin asked, voice dripping with reproach.

Before Devyn could snap at him, Maeve interjected.

“Devyn was the best cook in the alienage.  Well.  Second best.”

He smiled a little and Maeve smiled back with a little wink.

Kierin snorted. “Who was the best?”

“My papa,” he blurted.  His cheeks went hot and he haltingly amended it to, “My father.”

His father picking him up when he was little and holding him over the pot.  Telling him how water looked when it boiled.  Helping him stir porridge and batters for cakes until he could move the spoon on his own.  His mother laughing and saying he was too young to learn to cook.  A joke, of course, since she was already teaching him fighting stances and disarming maneuvers.  Tears prickled against his eyes at the memory.  His father...he missed him.  He missed all of them back home.  He squeezed his eyes shut tight to ward the tears back.

“Well, hurry it up anyhow.  I’m starving.”

Devyn wasn’t sure why Kierin seemed to be going out of his way to be mean to him.  Maybe he was still upset about how he had carried him back to the Dalish camp what seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Calm down, lethallin,” Theron said, smirking. “You sound worse than me.”

Kierin gave him a withering glare but said no more.  Theron was fresh from taking a bath.  There was a small lake behind the outcropping of trees that surrounded their camp and he had taken advantage of it.  His hair was loose and damp, hanging past his waist.

“It’s a Warden thing,” Alistair said suddenly.

He had been quiet, his head bowed and his eyes not focusing on anything as though he were in a trance.  Devyn suspected that he was thinking about Duncan and so he didn’t want to bother him.  Now Alistair shot his head up sharply, alert.

“What is?” Theron asked.  Again, he tipped his head to the side in that artful way that made his hair tumble like a waterfall over his shoulder.

“Increased appetite.  It’s to provide better stamina to kill Darkspawn,” he explained.

 _Oh, so that’s why I’ve been so hungry lately_ , Devyn thought.

“I haven’t noticed anything different.”

Kierin let out a snort of a laugh and elbowed Theron in the side.

“Of course you wouldn’t.”

Cassan slit-eyed Alistair over the fire.

“Any other changes we should know about?”

He shook his head. “Nope.  Just the appetite thing and...uh...the Calling.”

Devyn frowned as he turned the rabbits over on the spit.  The what now?

“What’s the Calling?” Theron asked.

He saw Alistair’s cheeks go ruddy.

“Ah, well.  I suppose Duncan didn’t tell you.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “That is.  Grey Wardens only master the taint for a short while.  After that they...”

“Succumb to it,” Maeve whispered.  She pressed her fingers to her lips.

“And then it’s off to Orzammar.”

“For what?” Devyn asked, tensing.  He didn’t like the idea of going to Orzammar, period, let alone to die.  So far from the surface, no way out...he shuddered just thinking about it.

“You go into the Deep Roads,” Alistair explained, “and you...well...go out fighting.”

A hush fell over the campfire, the only sound the crackling of wood in the flames.

“How long?” Theron asked finally. “How long until this ‘Calling’?”

“About thirty years.”

Devyn turned the spit and chewed on the inside of his cheek as he did the math.  Thirty years...he would be forty-seven.  That seemed both a long way away and far too near.  His papa wasn’t even that old.  Idly, he took the rabbits off the flame.

“I think they’re done,” he murmured to no one in particular.

Carefully, he used a fork to slide the rabbits off of the spit and onto the plates Leliana had provided for them.  They were simple earthenware things she had had from her time in the chantry.

“So...” he said in a forcibly cheerful voice. “Who wants some rabbit?”

The others responded with much more enthusiasm than Devyn figured was warranted but he figured that they, like him, wanted to get off of the topic of the Calling.

“What’s that?” Theron asked.

Devyn wondered what he meant until he realized that he was pointing at the fork he was using the hold the rabbits in place on the plate.

“Um...it’s a fork.  You eat with it.”

“The Dalish don’t use forks?” Maeve asked.

Theron shook his head.

“Then what do you use?” Cassan asked in her demanding, incredulous way.

“Knives,” he and Kierin answered in unison.

“And spoons,” Theron added. “How do you eat soup with that thing?”

“You don’t,” Devyn replied. “We use spoons, too.”

Tentatively, he took the fork Devyn was using from his hand and inspected it.  Theron placed the tip of his finger on one of the tines and frowned.

“Seems useless if you’ve got a knife,” he said finally and put it back on the plate.

Devyn shrugged and went back to cutting up the rabbit.  He had no idea which parts were the best.  The legs looked to be the best candidates.  Next to him, Maeve cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention off of utensils.

“How are we going to do watches?” she asked. “I can take first.”

“Me, too,” Kierin said quickly.  His eyes glanced quickly to Theron before adding, “I can take Theron’s as well.  He hasn’t slept in days.”

Theron opened his mouth to protest but Kierin cut him off.

“You haven’t, lethallin.  And you get sick when you don’t sleep.”

“I do not!” Theron punctuated the statement with a sneeze, which belied his words.

Kierin turned his hand out, smirking all the while.

“Sleep, lethallin.  I’ll take your watch.”

Devyn noticed that Maeve had a glint in her eye and pushed his fork deep into the meat of the rabbit.

“You aren’t taking my watch, cousin!”

“Yes, I am.  You need your sleep.” Maeve spoke in her most bothersome big sister voice.

Cassan laughed so hard she snorted.

“Aw, yeah.  The wittle baby needs his sweep!” she crowed.

Devyn’s hand clutched the end of the fork so tightly that the metal bent a little.

“I can stand watch!” He hated the way he sounded, so whiny and petulant.

Maeve gave him a leveled look and he realized that there was no negotiation involved.  He sighed ruefully.

“Fine.  But only for tonight, okay?”

Maeve smiled. “Okay, Devling.”

At that, Cassan burst out laughing again.  Devyn sent her a glare over the fire.

“I can take the next watch,” Alistair volunteered.

“I can as well.”

Devyn nearly jumped at the sound of Leliana’s voice.  She had been so quiet that he had forgotten that she was sitting with them around the fire.  Then again, she probably figured that she had nothing to contribute in discussions about the Grey Wardens or Dalish table manners.  Maeve nodded.

“Alright and Cassan can take the next watch with--”

“I am up to the task.”

This time, Devyn actually jumped since he was not expecting Sten’s booming baritone to come from behind him.  The Qunari had been keeping his distance from the fire and the group, though he was still closer than Morrigan who had set her tent up at the farthest reaches of the clearing where camp was.

“Alright...” Maeve said a bit apprehensively. “Sten and Cassan will take the last watch.”

Devyn looked down at the rabbit before lifting the plate.

“And I think I’ve cut these up so...who wants some meat?”

Surprisingly, the dog reacted favorably.  He jumped to his feet from where he was sitting next to Kierin and trotted over happily to Devyn.

“Huh?”

Kierin shrugged. “The dog reacts weirdly whenever anyone says ‘meat.’  He comes like you called his name.”

Devyn fed him a little bit of rabbit and shrugged back.

“Maybe his name is Meat.”

Cassan scoffed. “Who would name their dog Meat?”

“It could happen.”

\--

Theron was dreaming.  He was aware he was dreaming but still unable to wake up, which he figured meant that this wasn’t a regular dream.  Sometimes he “awoke” in his dreams to find himself in the Beyond.  When he asked the Keeper about it, her eyes had gone wide and she had left.  He didn’t know what that meant but he presumed it had to do with his father, the last Keeper.  The one no one spoke about in his presence until he finally wheedled the story out of Ashalle before he left.  The first Theron.  This wasn’t one of those dreams, though.  It was different.  In a way, he felt that he wasn’t actually dreaming.

The sky was a hideous shade of green.  He couldn’t name it but it was bright, so bright it hurt his eyes to look at it.  The acid flasks he and the other hunters would make to use defensively.  That sickly, almost glowing green.  The color was harsh and almost came with a smell.  An acrid stench that burned his nostrils.  Theron put both hands over his nose.

He was aware, suddenly, of a presence behind him.  It was an itch under his skull and a finger poking him in the back of the head.  He whirled around and saw the dragon.  It was monstrous, more monstrous than the dragons described in any of the Hahren’s stories.  Purplish-black all over with spikes protruding in the oddest places.  There was no pattern to them.  Under the scales, blackish blood moved, visible through skin that looked as hard as ironbark.  Teeth the same purple-black of the scales overlapped one another and protruded out from its narrow snout.  Its head was a wicked-looking wedge that flailed around on a snake-like neck.  Theron swallowed thickly and looked at it.

The dragon looked back and the stare from its beady black eyes hit him straight in the heart.  It opened its maw and let out a roar.  Theron flung his upper body forward in a threatening manner, opened his mouth, and roared back.

\--

Maeve poked at the fire with a stick and glanced up at Kierin.  He was shining the metal of his sword while glaring enviously at Devyn’s battleaxe.  Alistair had apparently gotten it for him.  The thought worried her.  Devyn had been hurt by too many human men and she didn’t yet know Alistair enough to think him better than any of them.

“So,” she said to start a conversation, “I’ve been wondering...what exactly is your relationship to Theron?”

Kierin’s hand stilled.

“What do you mean?” he asked icily.  Maeve saw his hand tighten around the rag he was using on the blade.

“Well...you often act like brothers.”

The tendons in his hand went slack and he resumed polishing.

“Oh.  Well, we’re not.  Not actually.  I came to the Clan at the last Arlathvhen--uh, the Gathering of the Clans--along with our First, Merrill.  The one you met.  My parents were...hunters.  They were killed and so I had no custodian.  I came to the Sabrae Clan and Ashalle took me in.  Ashalle was Theron’s custodian as well.  His parents died the night he was born.  So we were raised together for the past nine years but not as brothers.  We’re Clan-mates.  So I suppose we’re closer than most but...”

This was the most she had heard Kierin talk, honestly.  In the two days before they reached Lothering, he had talked the most but it had only been in comparison to the silence from the rest of them.

“But...?”

Kierin shook his head. “Nothing.  It’s nothing.”

Just like that, he was closed off again.  Maeve decided to try a different tactic.  She had often employed this on Soris when he was being tight-lipped about whatever mischief Shianni and Devyn had gotten up to while she wasn’t looking.

“Sometimes...it seems like you’re jealous of him.”

“Jealous?!” he exclaimed angrily.  His posture relaxed, then, and Kierin let out a small laugh. “Alright, maybe a little.  I mean...it’s hard not to be jealous of him.  He’s gorgeous, an excellent shot and even though he was always in trouble, no one seemed to really stay mad at him.  And he had Tamlen...”

“Had Tamlen?  You mean the one who went missing?” Maeve could fill in the blanks but opted to let Kierin do it himself. “Had him how?”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?  They were lovers!”

The news didn’t particularly surprise Maeve.  Theron’s reaction in that cave when Duncan informed him that Tamlen was as good as dead had clinched it in her mind.  The way his eyes went wide and his mouth went slack, he looked like he had those two long days after Ostagar.

“And...were you jealous?”

Kierin screwed his face up but his polishing increased in speed.

“No,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Alright.”

He looked up, expression angry.

“I wasn’t!  Not like that!  I didn’t...want Tamlen.” He scowled. “Tamlen only tolerated me tagging along because Theron wouldn’t go without me.  I was...second to Tamlen, even so.  I was almost Theron’s brother, I was...his best friend but Tamlen was first to him.  Even as he insisted I come along, his eyes were always on him.”

Kierin spat on the ground.  Maeve listened to this and nodded thoughtfully.  She didn’t voice it out loud so as not to anger Kierin further but a lot of what he was saying seemed to point to the fact that maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit in love with Theron.

“What about you?” he asked.

Maeve frowned and asked back, “What about me?”

“You and the pipsqueak.  You’re cousins, right?”

She nodded, not sure where Kierin was going with this line of questioning.

“How come you act like his mother, then?”

“I don’t act that way just around Devyn,” she pointed out.

Kierin rolled his eyes. “Don’t I know it.”

Maeve smiled a little.  She couldn’t help but mother these ridiculous teenagers she found herself traveling with.

“As for Devyn...his mother died when he was little.  She was killed by guards after she defended a man they were hassling and claiming was a thief.  Since then...my Uncle Cyrion, Devyn’s father, he had to work a lot to support himself and Devyn and...all of us cousins, eventually.  My parents were long dead and Soris’s died in the riots shortly after Aunt Adaia was taken away.”

Maeve closed her eyes and fought back the memory.  The riots had had nothing to do with her aunt’s arrest but had come at the worst possible time.  She also thought of Shianni’s mother, her Aunt Norah, who never left the house and refused to even try to find Shianni a spouse so that her daughter could never leave her.

“So often I would have to take care of him.  I also...took over training all of my younger cousins after Aunt Adaia died.  You see, us city elves aren’t allowed to fight or take arms.  That was what got my aunt arrested.  But we did it in secret.”

Kierin nodded thoughtfully, but his expression was set in his usual petulant sneer.

“But Devyn in particular, I’ve always been more protective of him than any of the others.  He’s always been really...I guess reckless is the word.  He doesn’t think before he acts.  So it started as me just making sure he didn’t make the wrong people mad until I just ended up being protective of him by habit.  He’s been through a lot.”

At that, Kierin’s eyebrows went up.

“Is that how...” He gestured around his eyes.

Maeve shook her head. “No, not that.  Something else.  It isn’t my place to say it but he’s been hurt.  And I worry about him...a bit...overzealously.”

Kierin snorted out a laugh.

“Hey, you do the same thing with Theron!”

“I do not rub salve on him so his skin doesn’t burn!”

Maeve simply gave him a look.  Kierin’s treatment of Theron was very similar to her treatment of Devyn except that it was framed differently.  Kierin tried to pretend not to care when she didn’t bother to hide her concern.  Maeve also knew that she wasn’t in love with Devyn as she suspected Kierin was with Theron.

“I don’t!”

She nodded and prodded the fire with a stick.  Kierin slumped and folded his arms over his chest.  Maeve laughed to herself as she continued to tend to the flames.

\--

Alistair didn’t know if Leliana noticed but she sang to herself when she wasn’t doing anything else.  Right now, she sang softly to herself as the both sat around the fire.  It was pretty so he didn’t tell her to stop and, anyhow, he figured doing so would be mean.  Instead, he poked at the fire and didn’t say anything.

He figured if he said nothing, it would be for the best since him talking never seemed to go well.  He would open his mouth and word vomit would come out until even cool-tempered Leliana would tell him to shut up.  Instead, he scratched the dog behind his ears.

“So, Alistair, there is something special between you two, no?”

He looked over at the dog.

“Um...no?”

Leliana giggled.

“Not the dog, Alistair.  Devyn.  I saw that axe you gave him.”

He felt his face heat up.

“I...told him I would get it for him when we were fighting at Ostagar.  It-it was a gift for a friend.  Because that’s what Devyn is to me.  A _friend_.”

Alistair wasn’t about to admit to Leliana that he had been thinking a lot about what Devyn had said to him the other day.  About him sleeping with men.  He had been thinking about that and those two recruits back at the chantry and trying to figure out what it meant and why he was thinking about it so much.

“Alistair...you do know that it’s alright to like Devyn as more than a friend, don’t you?”

He felt his shoulders tense.

“Well, it would be fine if I did, which I don’t but if I did, I would be fine with it but I don’t so I don’t see why it’s a big deal!”

Leliana furrowed her brow and frowned. “No part of that sentence made any sense.”

“Just forget it, alright?”

She shrugged.

“Alright.”

Alistair bent down and got close enough to the fire that he began to sweat.  He was confused a bit, that he could at least admit to himself.  The thought of two men...it was oddly appealing but he wasn’t sure why.  He didn’t think it applied to him and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it.  Particularly with regards to what Devyn had said not only about himself but after he explained it.  How it was fluid.  What did that mean?  Part of him almost wanted to wake him up to ask but that was far too intrusive.

Maybe Devyn was a bit attuned to Alistair’s thought patterns because no sooner did he dismiss that thought did he come barreling out of his tent to collapse in front of the fire.  He stared up straight at the night sky, his thin chest moving up and down rapidly as he caught his breath.

“Devyn?” he asked, concerned.

He seemed to realize that he was outside and got up.  Laughing, he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Sorry.  I had a nightmare and I woke up tangled in my blankets and I--uh, that is, I just needed to get out into fresh air.” In the glow of the firelight, Alistair caught a faint blush on his cheeks.

Alistair nodded, listening to each of his words.

“What kind of nightmare?”

He had a sinking suspicion that he knew what kind of nightmare Devyn had been having.

“It...felt so real.  There were Darkspawn.” He drew his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly. “And I could see them.  I could hear them.  I couldn’t understand it but...”

He shuddered.

“Well...it was real,” Alistair replied. “Sort of.  One of the perks about being a Grey Warden is that you can sense the Darkspawn.  And they can sense us.”

Devyn gave him a shaky smile. “Oh, joy.”

He shuffled a little so he was facing the fire, managing not to move from his crouched position, which Alistair found impressive.

“I don’t think I’ll be getting any more sleep,” he admitted. “Mind if I stay up with you two?”

Leliana answered for them with one of her secretive smiles and an, “Of course not.”

They sat in silence for a few moments and Alistair found himself admiring Devyn’s profile.  He also found himself tempted to brush some of his unruly black hair away from his face.  He shook his head and bit his lower lip hard enough to taste blood.

“Maybe we can talk, yes?” Leliana asked. “To make the time pass?  This silence is getting to me, I think.”

Alistair had to agree but waited for someone else to start.  He wasn’t exactly a master conversationalist.

“So, Alistair...”

He looked and noticed that Devyn was looking at him with a devious smile on his face.

“What?” Did he somehow know what he was thinking?  No, he couldn’t.

“I’ve been wondering...since you were raised in the chantry does that mean you’ve never...?”

Leliana giggled as if she were in on the joke but Alistair was confused.

“Never what?  Never had a good pair of socks?  We mostly all got the same socks so we’d have to stitch our names into them.  I could never really do small a’s...”

Devyn started laughing.

“I meant sex!” he managed to get out between laughs.

Leliana was still giggling, trying and failing to hide her mirth behind her hands.  Alistair’s face went hot and he was certain that he was beet red.

“Oh...” he said, feeling more than a bit foolish. “Well, I...have never had the pleasure.  Um, have you?”

He figured that maybe Devyn had meant something else when he had said that he slept with men.  He was very young and perhaps hadn’t even discovered sex yet.

“Of course I have,” he said bluntly.

Or perhaps not.  He had to remind himself that Devyn wasn’t nearly as young as he looked.

“Alistair, you’re a virgin?” Leliana asked.

“Well...”

She giggled again. “That’s quite adorable.”

He frowned.

“Hey!”

“I’m sorry,” she said but her continued laughter seemed to undermine her apology.

Alistair sighed and lowered his head.  He looked over and noticed that Devyn had stopped laughing and was instead smiling at him in an understanding sort of way.  He smiled back.

“I just...am waiting for the right time and that time and that person hasn’t arrived yet, alright?  Is that so wrong?”

“Of course not.” Devyn rested his head on the tops of his knees and turned that smile towards him.

His insides went a bit to goo and he mentally told them to solidify once again.  Still, watching Devyn smiling at him and feeling his stomach get all flippy, he couldn’t help but think that maybe there was a little truth to what Leliana had said.  And that thought confused him most of all.

\--

Cassan watched Sten across the fire, trying to read his expression.  It was impossible.  His face was a stone-still as a statue.  She frowned and leaned forward to pick a stray thread from the torn hem of her robes.  She felt...off.  When she had gotten up for her watch, she had noticed that Devyn had joined Alistair and Leliana around the fire.  When she appeared, he immediately said that he was going to bed and, for some reason, that irked her.  He was obviously avoiding her and it bothered her that he was.  And, furthermore, it bothered her that it bothered her.  She and Devyn didn’t like each other, she knew that, so his avoidance wasn’t a surprise.  What was a surprise was that it hurt her.  Not just him, either, but Alistair and even Leliana didn’t give her more than a cursory greeting before retreating into their own tents.

She knew she had maybe gone a little out of her way to make herself unapproachable but she didn’t think it would actually bother her.  Cassan hunched down further and scowled.

“How is it that you became a Warden?”

Sten’s voice caught her off-guard and Cassan sat up, her spine staff-straight.

“Huh?”

He was staring at her in an intense, disarming way and it made her shiver despite herself.

“The Dalish were ill, Maeve and the child were conscripted to avoid execution for killing an Arl’s son.  Circumstance, not skill.  Why were you chosen?”

Circumstance, not skill.  That was true enough.

“Why were you in that cage?” she countered.

Sten’s gaze didn’t falter.

“I see you are avoiding the question.”

Cassan sighed and lifted her hand to twist some hair around her fingers.

“There was a boy in the Tower.  Never liked him.  He hung around with Amell, this pathetic...” she sighed and plucked on more stray threads. “Well, anyway.  He wanted to get out of the Tower and, for some reason, he asked me for help.  So I did.”

Sten’s gaze was unwavering.

“But you said you did not like him.  Why would you help him?”

Cassan shrugged.  She really didn’t know why she’d helped Jowan except...

“I would help anyone escape from the Tower, I guess.  Anyway, turns out he was a blood mage and he escaped anyhow.  Duncan stopped me from getting sent to the mage’s prison or solitary.”

“Circumstance,” he said, “not skill.”

The way he said it somehow rubbed her the wrong way.

“No.” Cassan lifted her chin defiantly. “Both.”

\--

Devyn crawled out of his tent some time before sunrise, wiping a weary hand over his face.  After he had gone back into his tent, he hadn’t slept at all.  Fear of the nightmares returning kept him wide awake.

He stumbled out into the campsite, yawning and ruffling his own hair.

“Ah, you are awake.”

Devyn stopped mid-yawn.  Morrigan was standing by the dying fire.  Sten had gone back to his spot near the fringes of camp but Cassan was seated next to her.  She kept giving Morrigan sideways glances and blushing a little.  Devyn suppressed a laugh.  Cassan had a crush on Morrigan!  He was going to enjoy holding that over her.

“Um...yes.  I am.  I see you’ve joined us?”

Morrigan batted the air with an open palm.

“I had a question for you.”

“For me?”

Cassan pressed her knees together and held them in place with her hands.

“For him?”

Morrigan nodded.  The dying embers flickered up and gave her yellow eyes a sinister look.

“It is not anything important but...when mother found you in the Tower, she said that the muscles of your shoulders were nearly shredded.  Yet she claimed that before you were struck by arrows, you were still standing.  I want to know how that is.”

Devyn reached over to rub one of his shoulders.

“Why ask that now?  Why not a few days ago?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“I had other matters on my mind.”

Truthfully, he found it odd that Morrigan was asking him about his injuries.  Alistair kept claiming that she had some kind of ulterior motive to following them and maybe she did but it was no matter.  Morrigan was useful.  Always blunt and often rude but useful.

“Well, I guess it happened after I flipped the ogre over my head.”

Morrigan’s cool veneer vanished.  Her eyes went wide and her jaw slack.  Cassan furrowed her brow in disbelief.

“You did _what_ , pipsqueak?”

He ignored the jab at his size and didn’t even mention that Cassan was barely any bigger than him.

“I flipped an ogre over my head,” he repeated. “In the Tower.  And then Alistair killed it.  My shoulders were killing me after so I guess that was what shredded the muscles.  Why?”

Morrigan quickly recovered and her lips settled into the wry smile that was constantly on her face.

“I wanted...to know,” she said in a way that was most definitely not secretive or suspicious. “So you are strong?”

Devyn shrugged. “I guess.”

He knew he was understating his strength.  He always had nearly freakish (as Soris described it) physical strength.

“I like strong,” Morrigan said with a soft giggle.

That confused him.  She was using the same voice and giggling she had back in Lothering when he yelled at her for being mean to Alistair.  He didn’t understand it.  There was no way that she could be flirting with him, could there?  Cassan tensed and tightened her hold on her knees.

“Uh...and I like men,” he replied awkwardly. “I’m sure you could go round to Theron, though.  I mean, he’s pretty strong, too.  I saw him eat a whole pheasant in one bite when we were on our way to Ostagar.  And then he pulled the bones out.  I mean...what’s going on there, right?”

Cassan snorted a laugh but he saw her face soften after he spoke that she was glad he hadn’t responded.  Morrigan laughed as well.

“Very well,” she said, eyes gleaming. “I shall leave you both now.  I have to pack my things to get ready for the day.”

She turned and left, going back to her tent at the far end of camp.  Devyn turned to Cassan once she left, grinning broadly.

“Do _not_ ,” she warned.

“Do not do what?” he asked innocently.

“Do not say what you are about to say or so help me I will crush your bones to dust.”

His grin widened.

“That is a risk I’m willing to take.”

Purple-tinged energy sparkled at the tips of Cassan’s fingers but Devyn didn’t let that dissuade him.  He began bouncing up and down, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“CASSAN FANCIES MORRIGAN!  CASSAN FANCIES MORRIGAN!”

Morrigan, already at her end of camp, apparently didn’t hear him or, if she did, she made no acknowledgement of his claim.  Cassan, meanwhile, sprang to her feet and began firing little spirit bolts.  One hit Devyn’s foot and he yelped at the pain.  She gave chase around the dying fire as he dash around it, trying not to get his feet singed again.

“Cassan and Morrigan, sittin’ in a tree!” he crowed. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Shut up, _Devling_!”

He wagged his tongue at her.

“Only Maeve’s allowed to call me that!”

“Don’t care!”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the angry, determined look on her face as she fired little spirit bolts at his feet.  Somehow, Cassan managed to catch up to him and tackle him down to the ground.  Devyn wriggled under her, still laughing loudly.

“Take it back!” she threatened. “Take it back!  I do not fancy Morrigan!  No matter how pretty and good at magic she is!  I mean--”

That sent him into another wave of laughter.

“Oh, Maker!  Maker’s asshole, that’s good.  ‘I don’t fancy Morrigan even though she is pretty and talented and gonna teach me how to turn into a spider, too!’”

Cassan ground her knee into Devyn’s thigh and his laugh turned into a yelp of pain.

“Stop shouting it to the hills or I’ll tell everyone that you pleasure yourself while whining Alistair’s name!”

“I do not!” he snapped.

Granted, he had maybe thought of him once or twice while letting one out but he certainly didn’t whine!

“What is going on out here?”

In unison, they both turned to see Maeve standing over them.  Her curly hair was outlined by the rising sun but even the sort of halo it gave her didn’t diminish the scowl on her face.  Cassan quickly scrambled off of him and Devyn got himself into an upright position.

“Uh...” Cassan tried.

“Cousin...”

Maeve lifted a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.  Both of you get up.  Devyn, get started on breakfast.  Cassan, go get more firewood.”

“But--” they started in unison.

“No buts!  Devyn, you are seventeen.  Cassan, I believe you said you were eighteen?  Furthermore, you are both Wardens.  Act like it.”

Devyn was used to cousin Maeve’s lectures.  Cassan seemed about to protest but thought better of it, instead hanging her head like a chastised child.

“Yes, cousin.”

“Yes, Maeve.”

Maeve lifted her chin a little.

“Good.  Now do as I said.  We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

Cassan got up and stomped into the treeline to find them some more firewood.  She didn’t bring a weapon but Devyn assumed that she would just sizzle the wood into smaller pieces.  He started towards his tent to get the frying pan he had brought with him but Maeve stopped him.

“What?”

She licked her thumb and wiped it across his cheek.

“You had some dirt there.”

He swatted her hand away and stalked into his tent.


	6. Chapter 6

“Did you have any dreams last night, lethallin?” Kierin seized his arm and whispered the words harshly into his ear.

Theron rolled his eyes and wrenched his arm free.  He had been in the middle of restringing his bow before his Clan-mate waylaid him.

“You don’t have to whisper,” he said back at a regular volume. “It’s a Grey Warden thing.  I heard Devyn telling Maeve about it.”

Kierin screwed his face up as if he had wanted to make their discussion of dreams a private, Clan matter and it just made Theron roll his eyes again.  Sometimes Kierin still acted like a fledgeling.

“Fine.  Then did you?”

“Yes, I did.”

He didn’t tell Kierin that the dragon--or whatever that was--had seen him just as he had seen it.

“Was it the dragon?”

Theron was a bit surprised but he nodded.

“What dragon?”

They turned in unison to see their fellow Wardens staring at them both.  Kierin squirmed but Theron just tossed his hair over his shoulder and put his hands on his hips.  He was used to being stared at, no matter what the cause.  People had been eyeing him up and down since his fifteenth winter.

“The dragon in our dreams,” he replied easily. “You all saw it, too, didn’t you?”

Maeve shook her head. “I only saw the Horde.”

Devyn and Cassan nodded their agreement.  Alistair was eyeing them both strangely and Theron recalled that he had six months of Grey Warden training on all of them.

“You both saw a dragon?”

“Yes,” Kierin answered defensively. “A big purple dragon with spikes.”

“It smelled like Halla shit,” Theron added.

Alistair let out a low whistle and shook his head.

“That was the Archdemon.”

Cassan arched a brow and folded her arms.

“The Archdemon is a dragon?”

At that, Alistair shrugged.

“I guess it’s a dragon.”

Kierin scowled and crossed his powerful arms over his chest.  He had that effect, Theron thought, of looking threatening.  He couldn’t pull that off.  He was all sinew and lean muscle.  Ideal for a hunter but not for intimidation.

“Why did we see a dragon and you didn’t?”

No one had an answer for that and Theron sighed.  He honestly did want to know why he and Kierin had apparently seen the Archdemon and the others hadn’t.  Those types of visions usually meant something special and while he wouldn’t mind some preferential treatment, being the kind of special that had dreams about Great Evil was usually the sort who had to make some kind of heroic sacrifice.

“Maybe,” Alistair said finally, “it’s because you both had the Taint inside you before the Joining.  It makes you more sensitive or something.”

Theron exhaled a sigh of relief.  He wasn’t special, then.  He was just particularly sensitive, as he was to the Beyond.  He went back to stringing his bow.

“So what’s the plan?” Alistair asked.

Theron’s back was to him but he heard the sound of him clapping his hands together and knew that he was probably looking around at the others with that ridiculously excited puppy face he often wore.  He waited for Maeve to answer.  She seemed to be taking command, which Theron figured was good for him.  He couldn’t even fulfill Duncan’s dying wish.  There was no way he could ever actually lead.

“If you like, I can go to Denerim and see what I can find about Loghain.”

To his surprise, it was Leliana who spoke.  Theron turned, now intrigued.  Unsurprisingly, he looked just in time to see Maeve nodding.

“That’s a good idea.  What do you others think?”

She turned her even, patient gaze on the rest of them.  Devyn tentatively raised his hand and, at that, Maeve smiled.

“Yes, cousin?”

“Uh...can I ask that we not go to Orzammar first?” His eyes, always large, were wide as plates on his face.

Kierin jerked a thumb at him and pulled a face but, for once, didn’t voice his disgust.  Theron replied to him with a shrug.  He had no idea why Devyn would be against going to Orzammar.

“Of course,” Maeve replied with a smile of understanding. “We can put it off for now.”

“Let’s go to the Brecilian Forest,” Kierin said, loudly and suddenly.

Maeve stared at him for a moment, her dark brows drawn together.

“Um...alright?”

Theron sighed, knowing that he would have to speak up to explain his statement.

“There’s another Clan of Dalish there,” he clarified. “They’ve been settled there for a while.  Longer than our Clan ever stuck around in one place.”

To Theron’s mild disbelief, Maeve flashed a smile at Kierin.

“Good idea.  We’ll start there, then.”

Theron thought back to the last Arlathvhen when he saw that particular Clan.  He had been just at the age where he was permitted away from his own Clan to talk to the other fledgelings.  That was when he first saw Kierin who glowered at him from his apparent hiding spot behind some bushes.  

He couldn’t remember much about that particular Clan except that their Keeper, Zathrian, scared him a little.  Theron had bumped into him while looking for Ashalle and he had turned and looked him straight in the eye, deep enough to peer into his soul, it felt.  Then he simply said, “You’re Theron’s boy, aren’t you?”  Theron had fled before giving him an answer.

“Is that the Clan you came from, Kierin?” Devyn asked.  

His tone was almost placating, which clued Theron into the fact that he was probably well aware that Kierin was still angry about having to be carried by him all those weeks ago.

“No.”

“What Clan _did_ you come from?” Cassan’s tone was anything but placating.

Kierin scowled and lifted his sword up into one hand.  He rested the edge of the blade on his shoulder and let the rest of it fall behind his back.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said icily, “I’m of the Sabrae Clan now and have been since I was a fledgeling.”

Theron nodded his agreement, though truthfully part of him was curious.  He didn’t actually know from what Clan Kierin originated.  Before he could press him, though, Maeve cleared her throat.

“Let’s get going.  We’ve got quite a bit of a walk until the Brecilian Forest and we’re burning daylight.”

Devyn pounded his chest. “Yes, Commander Maeve!”

She playfully pushed him. “Oh, quiet you.”

\--

It had been over two years since Leliana had set foot in a brothel but she knew that if there was a place to get information, this would be it.  It helped that the Pearl, Denerim’s premiere pleasure house, also served booze.  Sex and alcohol led to loosened tongues and she was intent on finding out if anyone knew anything useful about current events.

Going to the brothel had actually been her plan B since she found herself turned away from even approaching the palace.  The guard stationed out front had said that the Teryn was barring anyone who sounded Orlesian from setting foot in the palace.  At that, she had smirked.  No wonder she had heard murmurings that power had already gone to the man’s head.

“...closed off.”

Leliana turned, ears pricked.  The person that spoke was an elf.  A beautiful thing with long blond hair and strikingly silver eyes.  He was leaning against the bar, speaking to a dark-haired woman in a simple linen gown.  She noticed the practiced, precise movements in his hands and in his hips and deduced that he was one of the companions here.

“What’s closed off?” she asked politely, sliding up between them.

The elf looked at her down the slope of his even nose as if he was bothered that she was intruding on their conversation.  The dark-haired woman noticed his expression and gave him a pointed look.  Immediately, his features relaxed into a sweet, seductive smile.

“The Alienage,” he replied. “I’ve been having to sleep here since they closed it off while I was at work.”

He flicked some hair over his shoulder and shifted his hips slightly.  Yes, Leliana knew those gestures.  She had employed some herself in her past...her other life.  The elf pouted and shifted his gaze to the woman.

“Sanga’s been nice enough to let me stay for free.”

The woman--Sanga--shrugged as if it were no big deal but Leliana saw a smile tugging on her lips.  It was in her line of work to be trained to notice even the most minute changes in expression and body language.

“Why was the Alienage closed off?”

Part of her felt a bit queasy, so easily falling back into subterfuge and faked innocence to gain information but another part of her was thrilled.

“The riots.  The purge.” He shook his head in disgust, his immaculate features screwed up in a grimace. “We dare stand up for ourselves and the humans act as though we haven’t the right.”

Sanga put a hand on his slender arm. “Gunnar, please.”

She jerked her head at the other patrons and he sighed, grimace gone.

“My mate Devyn and his cousins killed an Arl’s son,” he said, “for doing awful things...the first thing Howe did when he and his chinless, big-nosed mug rolled into town as the new Arl of Denerim was lead a purge on the Alienage.  We fought back and...from what I hear, it wasn’t pretty.”

Lelian tried not to let recognition show on her face when he mentioned Devyn’s name.  Maeve had to be one of the other cousins mentioned since they had both said that they had been conscripted by Duncan to avoid arrest.

“What’s the regent to say about that?” she asked.

The elf--Gunnar, Sanga had called him--shrugged.

“Our dear ‘Hero of River Dane’ has other problems on his mind,” he said with a scoff. “So he lets Howe do his dirty work.”

Leliana nodded.

“Who is this Howe?”

She had heard the name uttered a few times in Lothering and it was usually accompanied by eye-rolling and laughter.

“He’s the Arl of Amaranthine and now the Arl of Denerim,” Gunnar explained, speaking slowly and sweetly. “I think he’s also the Teryn of Highever now since the Couslands were all ‘mysteriously’ killed.”

Leliana furrowed her brow.  The Couslands had also been brought up quite frequently in Lothering, though much more positively than Howe.

“They’re all dead?”

Gunnar flapped a hand and said, “Oh, there are rumors that the youngest somehow survived but that’s not likely.”

“How so?”

Sanga snorted a laugh.

“He’d have to be hiding and, let me tell you about the youngest Cousland, my lady,” she said, still laughing, “he’s not exactly the subtle, sneaky type.”

Gunnar smirked at her words and Leliana figured that he had an apparently more intimate knowledge of this young Lord.  Lelian shifted her posture in a calculated way and leaned forward.  A rush of perspiration came to her face.  It was a welcome old friend but welcome in a way that made her a little sick to her stomach.

“So...” she said in her best purr, the tones creaking with disuse. “What can you both tell me about the Teryn?”

\--

“Well, there are plenty of rumors about the Brecilian Forest.  You walk for hours only to turn a corner and find out that you’re back where you started.  Witches and monsters and, oh!  And ghosts--yeah, ghosts.  The Chantry says the Veil is just got a tear there, y’know?  But they’re hiding the presence of ghosts.  They like to cling to that, you know, the Veil tearing because it keeps in line with their teachings.  They don’t believe a place can be haunted on its own.  I mean, I think there’s a tear in the veil but that doesn’t mean it can’t just be haunted as well, right?”

Devyn spoke almost without pausing for breath.  He gestured wildly as he spoke, eyes wide and bright.  Alistair couldn’t help but smile.  He liked his passion.

“I guess not,” he said once he realized that Devyn had stopped his rapidfire discussion and was expecting an answer. “But the Chantry says that there’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Devyn gave a wicked smile and said, “The Chantry says a lot of things.”

The sight of that grin sent a shiver down Alistair’s spine that he couldn’t entirely explain.  No, he was beginning to think that he could explain it.  After his conversation with Leliana last night and the resulting night’s watch with Devyn, he had to admit--at least to himself--that he fancied him.  He fancied the way he could talk about magic and ghosts for hours on end.  He fancied his dazzlingly violet eyes and his wide, inviting grin.  His skinny hips and those shrimpy-looking arms that were apparently strong enough to flip an ogre over his shoulder.  He fancied his perpetually messy black hair and the way the tips of his ears pinkened in the sun because he always forgot to put salve there.  He even fancied his scars and the light sprinkling of freckles between them, over the bridge of his nose where the skin was so pale it was nearly translucent.  He got a weird, hot feeling through his groin when he saw him lift firewood or shift his axe into one hand without effort.  More often than he’d like to admit, he’d felt himself grow hard thinking about what those his hands could do to him.  He imagined, anyhow.  He actually had no basis to, well, base these sexual thoughts on and his fantasies often seemed a little...far fetched.

“What do those tattoos mean?”

Alistair was dragged out of his increasingly naughty thoughts by the blunt, slightly petulant voice of Cassan.  She was, of course, addressing Kierin and Theron.  Despite the way she was speaking, though, Alistair could detect definite curiosity in her words.

Theron drew his long fingers over the tattoo that curved around the corners of his lips.

“Vallaslin is a rite of passage,” he said.

“Lethallin!” Kierin interjected with his usual churlish anger. “We don’t owe these flat-ears anything about our culture.”

At that, Theron cocked a brow.

“Really?  Kie, is it their fault Shemlen took the culture from them?  If they want to know, the least I can do is tell them.”

Surprisingly, that got the blond to shut up and Alistair was glad.  He had had enough of Kierin’s outbursts already and it was barely past midday.  He was also a bit surprised by Theron’s response.  He thought he shared his Clan-mates distaste for non-Dalish elves.

“When we enter adulthood, we get blood tattoos,” Theron continued. “Different designs.  To signify different Creators.  For instance, mine is for Dirthamen, the secret-keeper and my patron God.”

Kierin didn’t give an answer for his own facial tattoos and no one pressed him.  He kept his arms folded and his expression sour.

“What about yours, pipsqueak?” he asked finally, his hazel eyes zeroing in on Devyn.  Alistair felt his shoulders rise instinctively in defense. “What do yours mean?”

Theron gave his Clan-mate a glare, proving that he was a bit more perceptive than Alistair first gave him credit for.  No one asked Devyn about his scars.  Not directly, anyhow.  Mostly they avoided the subject due to the perceived violence that occurred in the Alienage and that he probably wouldn’t want to talk about it.  Asking Maeve was also out of the question since Alistair, at least, didn’t want to betray his trust like that.  He said back in the Tower, back in another life, that they weren’t from a fight or anything but he couldn’t think of a situation where he’d have gotten those scars without it being ugly.  Devyn blinked at him for a moment and then lifted a hand to brush the underside of one of his scars as if he just remembered they were there.

“They mean that you should listen when your father tells you not to light the stove when he’s not home.”

A hush fell over the rest of them, save for Maeve who rolled her eyes and chuckled to herself.

“What?” Alistair asked after the moment’s silence.

“When I was little, I set my face on fire.  Healer said I was lucky t’keep my eyesight.” Devyn grinned broadly.

“Seriously?!” Cassan demanded. “ _That’s_ how you got those scars?”

He shrugged, that grin still on his face.  Everyone but Maeve stared at him in stunned silence.  Alistair didn’t even realize that he had broken it until he registered hearing his own laughter.

“See, cousin!” he shouted to Maeve who, in the midst of their discussion, had moved ahead several paces. “Someone other than me finds it funny!”

Without turning, she answered, “It wasn’t funny, Devyn.  You could have died.”

“But I didn’t!”

Alistair had a feeling that this was an argument often repeated between them since the accident happened.  He let his laughter subside and couldn’t help but feel somehow more endeared to Devyn now.  How he took his injury in stride.  He kept grinning even after the whole of their group kept moving forward.  Alistair watched him out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t help thinking about how much he wanted to kiss that grinning mouth.  He cleared his throat nervously.

“So...uh...what was that about the Chantry and ghosts again?”

Devyn’s eyes lit up and he jumped back into action.

“Right!  So the Chantry is just a buncha fakers and liars...”

\--

Theron made sure that he and Kierin walked in the lead as they approached where he approximated where the Dalish camp was.  He didn’t know anything about their interactions with Shemlen or other elves so he had no idea what to expect and no one to ask.  Kierin wasn’t speaking to him.  Apparently he was still upset that Theron so viciously disagreed with him when Cassan asked about their vallaslin.  The very thought made him scoff.  As if he didn’t disagree with Kierin all the time.  It was nothing new.  Even so, he kept his distance.  He knew Kierin well enough to steer clear when he was in a bad mood.

He felt a hand on his arm and sighed, ready to get huffy with Kierin again.  When he turned, though, he saw Alistair’s disgustingly earnest face peering at him.

“What?” he asked, only a measure less irritably than he would have asked Kierin.

“I...I’ve been meaning to ask you but wanted to...” He shook his head before continuing. “You were with Duncan, weren’t you?  When he died?”

Theron looked away.  He had tried not to think about it.  Duncan’s death.  His blood left on him until it dried to a rusty brown.  The promise he couldn’t even fulfill.

“Yes,” he said back blithely, unable to meet his gaze.

“Did he...did he say anything?”

Theron risked a glance back at him and wished he hadn’t.  All of this hurt was brimming in Alistair’s eyes.  He was terrible at hiding his emotions.  Right awful.

“Weren’t you flirting with Devyn a second ago?” he shot back, maybe a little defensively. “Go back to doing that.”

“I...no, I wasn’t!”

He saw Alistair chance a glance back at Devyn who was talking to Maeve about something.  Theron nearly smirked.  The Shemlen had it bad, didn’t he?

“D-don’t change the subject, Theron.”

He sighed, smirk gone.  Gingerly, he reached up to touch his arm.  Sometimes he could still see Duncan’s blood there.  Still feel the stickiness of it on his skin.

“He told me to get the others out of there,” he said, staring at his arm rather than Alistair. “And he told me...to get you out of there.  Which...I failed at spectacularly.”

“Me?”

Alistair seemed to ignore the fact that Theron had mentioned failing to rescue him at Duncan’s behest.

“Yes you.  He said...” Theron closed his eyes and pretended to think as if he didn’t hear Duncan’s words echoing in his mind nearly every time he was alone. “‘Without the King and without Alistair...’ and then he stopped talking.”

“Oh.”

Alistair looked away and fell back.  Theron glanced over his shoulder and saw that he had resumed talking to Devyn.  He wondered if Duncan (and Alistair, for that matter) knew something he didn’t.  Something important, it seemed.  He screwed his face up at the thought.  Shemlen problems, most likely.  Shemlen problems and thus not his problems.

He was aware, suddenly, of a presence up ahead.  Yes, he could hear it.  Shuffling feet and murmured words.  Not far off.  He caught the accent and smirked once more.  The hunters of this Clan weren’t very alert, were they?  Then again, there were few trackers and better than he and Tamlen.  Tamlen.  His chest still clenched at the thought of him and he wondered when it would stop.  Too much weighing on his mind.  Tamlen.  Duncan.  The Blight.  Everything.

“It’s not much further,” he forced himself to say. “I can hear the scouts.”

_They’re louder than a group of sodding bears,_ he thought to himself with an inward roll of his eyes.  He would never allow himself to be so loud.

The group of elves came clearer as they passed through the treeline at the outskirts of the forest.  Theron noted that they wore armor and carried the circular shields that were more prominent amongst Dalish warriors than hunters.  If they weren’t hunters, that explained how loud they were but the shields meant nothing.  Tamlen carried a shield and he...without warning, tears pressed hotly against the back of his eyes.  Theron squeezed his eyes shut to will them away.  He wasn’t going to be sobbing when they met with this other Clan.

The lead warrior noticed him and hitched her chin a little.

“Aneth ara, da’len.”

Theron bristled.  He was no da’len.  The only person who got away with calling him a little anything was Ashalle, who called him da’assan--little arrow.

_Well, and the Keeper...and Paivel.  Alright, anyone but my own Clan elders, he thought petulantly._

“We are not da’len,” Kierin said angrily.

The lead warrior regarded him with keen eyes.

“Your accent is strange, da’len.  Not from any Clan I know.”

Kierin looked away.  Theron felt suddenly protective of him and stepped forward.  Immediately, he felt eyes on him.  The other warriors were staring him up and down, including the one in the front.  He knew that their attention was off of Kierin now but even so, he flipped his braid over his shoulder and tipped his chin down.  He grinned, eyeing the lot of them through his eyelashes.

“We’re both of the Sabrae Clan,” he said in a low, coy voice.

The warriors bobbed their heads on their shoulders, apparently entranced.  Theron nearly laughed.  Finally, the leader cleared her throat and crossed armored arms over her chest.

“You travel in odd company,” she remarked and jerked her chin over her shoulder. “Looks like an oversized Shemlen and a group of flat-ears.”

At the mention of the pejorative, Theron caught Devyn cracking his knuckles.  Maeve seemed to as well since she put a placating hand over both of his.

“Well, we’re both Grey Wardens, lethallan,” he said, keeping his voice sugar sweet. “As are our companions.  We’ve come to speak with your Keeper, Zathrian.”

He opened his hands out in a peaceful gesture but made sure that the sunlight coming through the trees glinted off of the polished handles of his knives from where they rested in his wrist sheaths.

“Alright,” she said finally. “You both may enter but the others may not.”

“Excuse me?” Cassan demanded.

“These two are both Dalish.  The Clan is no place for a Shemlen and some flat-ears.”

Theron heard a small, guttural cry behind him.

“Call me a flat-ear one more sodding time!” Devyn growled.

His rage always surprised him--he was so small and often so cheerful (in such a weird way) that his anger was downright terrifying.

“Cousin, please...” Maeve whispered harshly.

She stepped forward, neatly picking her way between Kierin and Theron to stare the leader down.

“Hello,” she said warmly but Theron had spent enough time traveling with her to know that she was using her patiently impatient voice. “While the rest of us may not be Dalish, we are Grey Wardens and the treaty I have in my pack more or less demands a parley with your Keeper.  Now, we can do this the easy way and you lead our group right to them or I let my cousin pound all of you to the ground.”

“Yes!” Devyn exclaimed happily.

The leader wasn’t intimidated.

“I would like to see him try.”

Maeve glanced over her shoulder and said, “Cousin?”

Devyn whirled around and rammed his fist into a tree.  When he pulled it back, the tree now bore a new hollow.  Theron smirked while Kierin just looked peeved.  Alistair looked as though he was about to come right there in his armor, which made Theron smirk even more.

“Ah...right, yes.  Come along to meet our Keeper, Grey Wardens,” the leader said hurriedly, her eyes wide. “I will take you to him.  Right now.”

She turned quickly on her heel and began marching forward.  Theron, realizing that he was still in the lead, hurried after her.

“Hmm,” he heard Cassan mutter, “the pipsqueak is good for something.”

Next to him Kierin grumbled, “I could have punched a tree, too...”

Theron chose to ignore him.  The group of warriors (he preferred thinking of them as that as opposed to piss poor hunters) led him through to a camp.  Theron felt an unexpected wave of homesickness clutch his chest the moment he saw the first Aravel.  If the sharp intake of air to his left was any indication, Kierin felt it, too.  He stopped for a moment, soaking in the familiar smells of home.  He could hear the bleat of Halla in the distance and he could smell that someone was cooking mushroom soup.  His stomach grumbled at the smell.

His pause was just enough time for someone to clamp onto his arm.  He started and looked down at the gnarled hand that held onto the crook of his elbow.  Theron drew his eyes over to an ancient old woman.  Her face was heavily creased to the point where he couldn’t make out what pattern of Vallaslin she bore and only wisps of white hair clung to her scalp.

“Theron,” she croaked out, smiling a toothless smile. “Theron Mahariel?”

The warriors stopped in unison and the leader turned, curiosity written across her face.

“How do you...?”

“Where’s your staff?  And why the braid?  I remember when you were a boy--when you left us--and you wore your hair in that beautiful horsetail.”

Theron jerked away from her as though he were burned.

“That was my father,” he said icily. “He’s dead and I’m no mage.”

The woman wagged a finger at him, still smiling.

“I can sense the magic in you, Theron Mahariel.  You can’t fool me.”

Theron curled his lip and moved away from her.

“Come on.  We’re wasting daylight,” he told the warriors. “Take us to Zathrian.”

He marched forward, keeping his head down.  He could feel the press of a headache behind his eyes and he wasn’t sure if it was the emotions from before or what he felt now...or if he was just falling ill again.

“I didn’t know your father came from this Clan.” Kierin was speaking to him again.  Good for him.

“I didn’t either.”

“Do you want to--”

He snorted a laugh. “No.  I don’t want to talk about it.  We have work to do, remember?”

Kierin scowled a bit but then gave a brief nod of his head.  The walk to the Keeper’s Aravel did not take long.  Zathrian was out front, speaking to a young girl who he presumed was this Clan’s First.  Zathrian was at once ancient and timeless, just as Theron remembered him.  His face bore no lines--not even laugh lines to curve around his lips--but the air around him felt...old.

“Greetings, da’len.”

Theron scowled at the title once more.

“We’re cutting to the chase,” Cassan interjected.  She stepped forward, arms folded over her chest. “We’re Grey Wardens.  We have a treaty that says to give us troops.  So give us them so we can leave.”

For once, Theron appreciated her rude interruption.  He suddenly no longer wanted to be here, in this camp.  Zathrian’s mouth thinned to an impatient line and he turned from Cassan to address Kierin.

“I would like to honor your treaty, however...I fear we don’t have any warriors to spare.”

From behind him, he heard a snort of a laugh from Alistair.  It sounded a bit like a dog’s exhale.

“Huh, so you’ve got your own problems.  What’re the odds?”

Zathrian narrowed his eyes at him and Theron glanced over his shoulder to see Alistair shrink back.  He might have been bigger but he didn’t know what it was like to be on the receiving end of a Keeper’s disapproving stare.  Even Theron felt some of the fire from that.  Zathrian’s glare was even more potent than Keeper Marethari’s.

“This may require some explanation.  Come.”

His robes barely made a rustle as he ghosted by them.  Zathrian led them to a secluded part of the camp where many warriors and hunters were stretched out on mats, writhing in pain.

“Our Clan is under attack from something lurking within the forest,” he explained, making a sweeping hand gesture over the wounded elves.

“What is it?” Maeve asked.  Her jaw was set as she spoke and her arms were folded over her chest.

“Werewolves.”

The moment he said it, a sound rented the air.  It sounded like a high-pitched wail.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Theron turned around and saw that the source of the sound was Devyn.  He clutched his cheeks and bounced up and down where he was standing.

“Cousin!” Maeve scolded. “Now is _not_ the time!”

“But werewolves!   _Werewolves!_ ” he exclaimed. “I wanna meet some werewolves!”

Maeve looked at him and then back at Zathrian.  She put an uneasy smile on her face.

“What he means is that we’d be happy to deal with this problem if we have your word that you will give the Wardens troops against the Blight.”

\--

Cassan folded her arms, regretting her decision to come.  Only four of them were venturing into the forest to do Zathrian’s dirty work.  Devyn, of course, skipped merrily ahead of everyone else, eager to see werewolves.  Alistair came along because even though he and Devyn weren’t lovers, the tiny little weirdo already had him by the prick.  Theron came since he expressed a desire to be out of the camp.  Cassan wasn’t invited by them at all.  She only came at Maeve’s behest since she was the only mage.

“I’m so...” Devyn kept saying before his words trailed off and he just started bouncing up and down.

Normally, Cassan would be ripping into him but she held her tongue.  Other than his outburst that morning, Devyn hadn’t said a peep about her fancying Morrigan (which she so seriously did not) and she didn’t want to give him any reason to yap it to Alistair, Theron or anyone else.  She glanced his way but he didn’t seem to notice her.  He was too wrapped up in his little werewolf world.

She turned to look at Alistair who was looking at Devyn with a besotted look on his face.  Cassan rolled her eyes.  He was so pathetically transparent and he didn’t even realize it.  Making fun of Alistair was out of the question, too.  Fancying someone was awful in general but even more awful when it gave tiny freaks something to hold over you.

“I don’t like this forest,” she said instead.

Alistair made a grunting noise of agreement.

“It’s...” He frowned as if he couldn’t find the right word.

“Spooky!” Devyn supplied.  A huge smile was stretched on his face.

“That’s one word,” Theron said.

“I just...have always wanted to explore the Brecilian Forest!” he exclaimed. “I’ve read so many stories and ballads and...and...to be here...”

Devyn went back to skipping and his gait made a fine juxtaposition to the large, imposing-looking axe strapped across his back.

“He is a strange one,” Theron observed.

“A strange one who can bench-press an ogre,” Alistair added.  There was a wide, goofy grin on his face as he said it.

“Gross,” Cassan deadpanned.

Alright, perhaps she wasn’t going to entirely stop making fun of Alistair.  It was just too easy.  Next to her, Theron stilled.  He reached behind himself to grab an arrow from his quiver and notched it into his bow.

“What?”

“Something’s up there,” he said in a low voice. “I can hear it...not quite animal but not Shemlen footsteps either.”

Cassan was impressed.  When he wasn’t stuffing his face or talking about how attractive he was, Theron was fairly competent.  They made their way through the trees to a clearing in the middle of what looked like a small pond.  There was a small island in the center, barely wider than four meters across.  On it stood what Cassan assumed were werewolves.  At least as tall as Alistair, the creatures resembled upright wolves.  They bore the general body type of a human but every other feature was lupine.

“EEEEEEEEE!” Devyn dissolved into an excited, bouncing child again. “I can’t believe it!  I can’t believe it!”

The head werewolf snapped at him and growled, its keenly human eyes narrowed.

“Quiet, elf.”

Devyn stopped his bouncing and narrowed his eyes right back.

“Excuse me?  I might be excited to meet you but that doesn’t give you the right to talk to me like that.”

Alistair’s eyes went wide with fright and he leaned in close to Devyn’s ear.

“You might not want to talk to them like that, Dev.  They’re kind of walking weapons.”

He pounded his fist into his open hand. “So am I.”

“Devyn...” Alistair flicked his gaze to the werewolves and then back to him.

The werewolf in the center walked forward a step and leaned down close to Devyn’s face.

“If you wish to fight us, Dalish, we will send you back to your master Zathrian in pieces.”

“I’m not Dalish,” Devyn countered.  He leaned in, skinny chest thrust out.

“It does not matter,” he growled. “You are still Zathrian’s pet.  Doing his work...”

Alistair stepped between them.

“Um, listen...serrah...werewolf...” he began slowly. “We don’t wish to fight you.  Well, Devyn might but he just likes hitting things.  I mean...we don’t want a confrontation.”

_Not yet,_ Cassan thought.

The werewolf stared at Alistair long and hard and she wondered momentarily why he was speaking before realizing that, out of the four of them, the only one of them with remote diplomacy skills was Alistair.  The thought was a scary one indeed.

“You were sent by Zathrian...” he paused and then a look of bemusement crossed his face.  Or, rather, the closest to bemusement a wolf’s face could make. “And it is Swiftrunner, not serrah werewolf.”

“Er...yes.” Alistair looked away.

“And do you know the whole story?”

“Probably not,” Theron said flatly.  He lowered his bow.

Cassan wondered why he was reacting so negatively to this Clan.  Kierin seemed about as pleased about being there as Kierin got over anything.  Swiftrunner made the same sort of snorting sound their Mabari did when he got excited.

“This Dalish speaks truthfully...” He turned to the other werewolves and then back to them. “Hear this, elves--and you, human--we will not attack you here but the forest will be your judge.  Come, brothers and sisters.”

Without another word, Swiftrunner and the werewolves accompanying him took off on all fours, disappearing into the treeline.

“Wow!” Devyn exclaimed loudly. “Werewolves!”

Cassan gave him an incredulous look. “I thought you were going to hit them.”

“Because they were rude,” he replied airily. “They’re still awesome werewolves.”

He strode forward, whistling a little to himself.  Alistair shook his head, laughing, and followed him.  Cassan looked to Theron who was smirking.

“So weird,” he repeated, flipping his hair over his shoulder.

She had to admit that she was starting to like Theron.  The Theron here was different from the Theron she had known previously.  It was as though he’d matured.

“Oh, hey!” he called up to Devyn. “Is there a way we can stop and eat first?  I’m starving.”

Or not.

\--

Kierin held his hand out and whistled.  The dog came trotting up to him, gaining odd looks from the other elves in the Clan.  He was beginning to like this dog.  They had their own war hound to eviscerate their enemies.

“What’s his name?”

This from Lanaya, the Clan’s First.  She wasn’t born Dalish, she’d said, but had been a part of this Clan since she was a child.  Kierin smiled at her, though the gesture felt foreign on his face.

“He doesn’t have one.  We’ve been calling him Dog.”

“I think his name is Meat,” Maeve chimed in because of course she was eavesdropping, the meddling mother. “He comes when you say it.”

Kierin looked over his shoulder and snarled, “The dog’s name is not Meat!”

He turned back to the dog and continued to scratch him behind the ears.  He didn’t want to be at this camp.  He wanted to be in the forest, making sure Theron didn’t exhaust himself.  He could be sick again and none of them would know the signs to get him back here.  He scowled.  Or maybe they did.  Passing out was a pretty clear sign.

“You’re worried about Theron,” Maeve said, coming next to him to squat.

“He has a weak constitution,” he said back petulantly.

“Well if he faints, Devyn can carry him back to camp.” She grinned slyly. “He’s good at carrying unconscious Dalish elves back to camps.”

Kierin pulled a face.

“Shut up.”

Maeve unfolded her legs and reached out to pet the dog.

“You’re upset that he didn’t want you to come, aren’t you?”

_Yes._

“No.”

“And you’re upset that he isn’t telling you what’s upsetting him about this Clan.”

_Yes._

“No.”

Maeve was making her maternal face and he scowled.  Maybe it worked with her cousin but it didn’t work on him.  He wasn’t related to her and he wasn’t a tiny baby like Devyn was.

“Look, I already have one adoptive mother who doesn’t let things go.  I don’t need another.  So stop giving me that look.”

Maeve didn’t say anything for a moment.  Her hand stroked down the dog’s broad back and her mouth was set in a slight frown.  If Kierin was the sentimental kind, he would have asked her if she was as worried about Devyn’s safety as he was about Theron’s.  But he wasn’t so he didn’t.

“Kierin...are you in love with Theron?”

His spine fused and, before he could stop himself, he let out a harsh bark of a laugh.

“Really?  In love with Theron?” He scoffed. “No.  He is my Clan-mate and my lethallin, I don’t...no.”

He shook his head, amazed at the conclusion Maeve had jumped to.  Him in love with Theron.  It was impossible to not be at least a little attracted to Theron with his exquisitely beautiful face and long, silken hair...his lean, sinuous body...the way his rear rose up under his leathers...Kierin shook his head and scowled deeply.  No, appreciating--and being a bit jealous--of how Theron looked was not the same as being in love with him.  Maeve was out of her mind to think so.

Satisfied with his mental process, Kierin went back to scratching the dog behind his ears.

\--

The castle looked much like he imagined a Ferelden castle would look.  He had only been here for a short while and already he was sensing a pattern.  Browns, grays, dogs everywhere...it was a bit humorous if he did say so himself.  The castle was much the same but somehow grander.  Purple and gold accents were affixed to the stone walls amid the dog statues and low, wooden furniture.  It certainly wasn’t the opulence he’d seen in the courts of Antiva.

He paused at a portrait in the grand hall.  A big, broad man with long blond hair painted to look as though it were blowing in the wind.  In one hand he gripped a sword decorated with runes.

“King Maric,” a slimy, nasal-sounding voice spoke behind him.

He turned to see a human who looked a bit like a cross between a snake and a weasel.  He jerked his thumb to the painting.

“Quite the looker, he is.”

“Was.” The man’s beady eyes narrowed. “He was lost at sea five years ago.  Tragedy, that.”

Already he didn’t like him but a job was a job and it would get him what he wanted either way.  He opened his hands out.

“Who am I to kill?”

The man scowled and gestured him to follow him.  A smirk pricked up on the corner of his mouth.  Ah, assassins were looked down upon in Ferelden, it seemed.  He followed him into a study.  A man in armor had his back to them both.  Weasel man gestured.

“I am Arl Rendon Howe.  However, you are in the employ of Ter--the Regent, Loghain Mac Tir, not me.  We have hired you take care of the remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden.  They killed the King and we fear they will kill the Regent.”

He presumed that the man with his back turned to them was this Loghain.  He said nothing.  It led him to believe that what Howe just said was a pack of lies but he did not truly care.  He had a job to do, after all.

“And what do they look like?”

Howe motioned to a desk where six wanted posters were spread.  Sketches of five elves and one human peered back up at him.  He ran his index finger down the jawline of the human.

“He looks like him.” He gestured back into the hallway where the painting was. “That King.  Maric.”

Loghain’s shoulders tensed, the armor clinking together, but still he said nothing.  A strange reaction, he thought.  He was simply making conversation.  Big, burly, and blond seemed to be common physical traits in Ferelden.  He regarded the other sketches, his gaze lingering on one.  He wasn’t sure if this sketch did this particular elf justice but the sketch was beautiful.  Long hair tumbling down in dark waves.  High, half-shell cheekbones and a full, pouting mouth.  It was a shame he would have to kill one so beautiful.  He moved his eyes from that and looked up at Loghain’s back.  He leaned on the desk, resting one hand on the sketch of a small, young-looking elf with a scarred face.

“The Crow will work out payment,” he said.

There was a long pause and he wondered if he was listening to him at all.

“Sire?” A nasal whine from Howe behind him.

“Very well,” Loghain rumbled at last, not tearing his gaze from the fire. “So let it be done.”

He turned from the desk, giving himself one last eyeful of that handsome elf, and started to leave the chamber.  Neither Howe nor Loghain asked him his name but he knew it didn’t matter that they didn’t know it.  He was the assassin they’d hired and nothing more.  Nothing really mattered now.  All that mattered was that he was Zevran Arainai and, with any luck, he was going to go out with a bang.


	7. Chapter 7

Alistair watched the backs of his companions in the wood and chomped down on the side of his lip.  The coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth and he realized at that moment (not, of course, the shaking earlier and the shortness of breath) that he was probably a lot more scared than he thought he was.  He swiped at the blood with his tongue and swallowed it with a cringe.

“So...what’s the plan?”

Theron walked ahead, slashing hanging branches with one of his hunting knives.

“We go to the heart of the forest.  We find out the truth.”

“The truth?”

Devyn glanced over his shoulder and said, “Zathrian said that Witherfang cursed the elves.  There has to be a reason.  Everything I've read said werewolves are mindless beasts.  Monsters.  Swiftrunner could have attacked but he didn't.  Something's weird about that.”

He pulled a face in disgust.

“Well what?”

He shrugged his slender shoulders.

“Told Kierin and Theron, I mean.  He looked at the rest of us like we weren’t fit to breathe the same air.”

“Seriously,” Cassan stated angrily.  She and Devyn stared at each other for a moment before she added, “Don’t get used to it.”

Alistair realized what he meant and nodded.  It was true.  He figured that Zathrian would rather just pretend he wasn’t there--and, honestly, he couldn’t blame him--but the way he was treating Maeve, Cassan, and Devyn was downright unfair.  He remembered what Theron said when he snapped at Kierin earlier that day: it wasn’t their fault that humans took their culture away.

“Did you know him, Theron?” Devyn asked.

The Dalish paused and Alistair saw his muscles tense.

“Not...really,” he said finally.

Theron turned to face them and flicked some hair from his eyes.

“I saw him, Zathrian, at the last Ar--at the last Gathering of the Clans.  I think he knew my father.”

They all stopped on the path, not speaking.  Alistair realized then that it was oddly quiet and still in the forest.  They had run into some Darkspawn--stragglers, no doubt--and werewolves intent on killing them earlier but now...nothing.  He couldn’t even hear any birds.

“Actually I have a question...” Devyn said.  He tilted his face up at the canopy of trees above them and frowned as if he noticed the same stillness Alistair had.  He looked back down and at Theron. “Merrill, the girl we met in your Clan...she was the First, right?  The, uh, apprentice to the Keeper?”

“That’s right.”

“And...Lanaya...the one here is also the First...and, um, your father.  That old lady elf said that he had magic when she thought you were him.  That would make him a mage, right?”

Again Theron’s shoulders tensed and Alistair saw the muscles at his jaw bulge at the side as he clenched his teeth.

“Yes.  Before he died, he was our Clan’s Keeper.”

“So...Lanaya is around your age, wouldn’t you say?  And she said that she didn’t come to the Clan until she was little...like, she wasn’t born into the Clan.”

“What are you getting at, Devyn?” His eyes narrowed.

“Well, if Zathrian’s been Keeper for as long-ass a time as the Clan told us, then...why did your father go to your Clan and not be his First?”

Theron stared at him for a moment and then shook some more hair out of his eyes.

“I don’t know.  I never knew my father.” He put his hands on his hips. “He died the night I was born.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry.”

To Alistair’s surprise, Theron smiled.  His arms dropped to his sides, relaxed now.

“‘Ma abelas,’” he said.

Devyn’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“Elvish for ‘I’m sorry.’  Ma Abelas.” His smile widened. “Kierin and the rest of the Dalish might want to be elvhen’alas about sharing our culture with non-Dalish elves but I’m not.  It’s your culture, too.”

Cassan and Devyn both smiled and shared a glance before they remembered their mutual dislike and turned away from one another.

“Now, come on.  We’ve got werewolves to find.”

Theron turned on his heel and began leading them deeper into the forest.  Alistair glanced upwards once more and shivered at the silence.

\--

She was nearing thirty--as her late husband’s uncle never failed to bring up--but her father always had a way of making Anora feel like a child.

“Father, who was that elf who just left?”

He didn’t answer her.  He hadn’t been doing much talking since his grand proclamation to the Bannorn.  He sat in Cailan’s throne and looked miserable, still not taking off that armor he had been wearing for the past thirty years.  Anora stared at her reflection in its dinged, weathered surface and scowled.

“No one,” he said finally.

He kept his head propped up on his hand, apparently not caring that the tips of his gauntlets were digging into the soft flesh of his cheek.  She felt her scowl deepen.  She trusted her father but she could not shake the feeling that he was hiding something from her.

“He was obviously someone,” she said and narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

Her father sighed and didn’t meet her eye.  Instead he looked over her shoulder.  Anora turned and saw that his gaze had landed on a painted portrait of Cailan.  It was well before he was King.  He was maybe ten in the portrait.  She remembered that day.  She had had to bribe him with promises of playing Grey Wardens with him for him to sit still and pose next to that Mabari.  King Maric, she recalled, loved it and spun Cailan around until he was nearly sick with dizziness, saying how proud he was of him for sitting still long enough to be painted.

“Father, you’ve been acting strangely,” she said and his eyes snapped back to hers.

There was always something icy about her father’s gaze.  Even when he would toss her in the air or tickle her nose with one of her braids when she was little, his gaze never entirely thawed.  The closest she ever saw to full, unguarded warmth was when the King would say something.  Only he could get him to laugh, it seemed.

“It’s nothing.”

“Oh?” She cocked a brow. “It isn’t the Civil War brewing?  It isn’t the Blight on our doorstep--”

“We don’t know if it’s a true Blight, Anora.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t a Satinalia celebration.”

He stared her down and she stared right back.  He often told her how she reminded him of her mother but in that moment, Anora was intent on showing her father exactly what she inherited from him.  She heard a faint clanking as he lowered his shoulders and looked away.

“It was nothing.  The elf was...a visitor from the Pearl.” He looked at her. “A man has needs.”

Anora couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of her father dallying with anyone.  She waved her hand dismissively and went to leave.  At the entrance to the throne room, she turned one last time.

“You may have declared yourself Regent and you may be be sitting on my husband’s throne but, father, remember who is Queen.”

\--

Maeve was growing restless.  The others had only been gone for a couple of hours but it was taking everything in her not to run off after them.  The dog seemed to sense her distress and barked comfortingly.  Maeve sighed.  She actually thought a dog sounded comforting.  Then, with Mabari, you never knew.

“What if they’re lost?” Kierin asked gruffly.

He sat near her, arms folded over his chest.  His jaw was set and his eyes were narrowed.  Maeve was a bit surprised.  When last she saw him, he was talking to the Clan’s storyteller about Elven history.  She had even seen him crack a smile.  Now he was back to his surly self, it seemed.

“They aren’t lost,” she said, as much for her own benefit as his.

“What if he’s sick?” he demanded. “What if he’s sick and lost and...and...argh!”

Kierin slammed his fist down into the packed dirt beneath him.

“Theron is fine,” she assured him. “You have to give him more credit than that.”

“You don’t know!  You were...never with him when he would lie and lie about feeling fine and then pass out in the woods!  I should have gone.”

“And do what?  What if you got lost, too?”

Kierin scowled and ground his fist deeper into the dirt.

“It doesn’t matter.  Pipsqueak is going to come over werewolves.  The Shemlen is going to come over pipsqueak.  Cassan is going to ignore everyone and no one is going to...watch out for him.”

Maeve sighed.  She was getting a little sick of hearing Keirin’s rants, especially talking about the failings of the others in their group.

“Have faith in the others,” she told him. “They’re more competent than you think.”

He snorted derisively.

“Two flat-ears and a Shemlen.  Okay.”

She balled her hands into fists and then slowly unclenched.

“Watch where you say that, Kierin.”

He grumbled under his breath and held his hand out for the dog.  He approached him and buried his wet nose into Kierin’s palm.

“You think I want to wait here?” she asked him. “That I don’t want to be out there as well?  Theron and Devyn...they aren’t children.  We have to trust them, alright?”

Maeve knew she was convincing herself just as much as she was convincing him but she didn’t mention it.  She was honestly getting a little sick of being Kierin’s verbal punching bag.  First last night and now today.  He didn’t answer her.  Just ran his hand over the top of the dog’s broad head.

“Kierin?”

Still no answer.

\--

The man balanced on one leg, his arms widespread.  The log on which he stood was decaying and covered in fungus.  The entire camp smelled terrible actually.  Like piss and shit and mold.

“Ask a question and you’ll get a question!” he insisted.

“Do you have the Maker-damned acorn?” Cassan demanded, balling her fists.

“Do I?”

Devyn looked over and saw magic sparking at her fingertips.  He was getting really impatient with this hermit as well but he had a feeling that, for once, violence wouldn’t help them here.

“I say we just take it.”

Theron was leaning against his bow.  One hand drummed along the surface of ironbark they had found back on a decaying tree that, in Devyn’s opinion, smelled far better than this camp.

“That is not a question!” the hermit exclaimed.

Devyn heard the sound of knuckles cracking realized that it was him.  Alright, maybe he was getting a little closer to violence than he thought.

“What if we trade?” Alistair asked exasperatedly.

“Trade?  Yes, yes, good!  I have a helmet...a book...an acorn--”

“The acorn!” Cassan shouted. “What do you want for it?”

The hermit leapt off of the stump and landed surprisingly nimbly on the ground.  He lifted a gnarled finger and tapped his chin.

“What do you have?”

Devyn shared a glance with Alistair who shrugged.  He didn’t know what the others had in their packs but he just had some health poultices, a frying pan and--

“Oh!” he exclaimed.

He swung his pack around and began digging through it.  Finally, his fingers hit what he was looking for and Devyn happily held the book aloft.

“What is that?” Cassan asked in her usual derisive tone.

“ _The Adventures of the Black Fox_ ,” he explained. “I read it to see if maybe he had any sort of legendary supernatural qualities--like maybe he wasn’t human--and it was just the usual tales so I’m kinda bored with it.”

The hermit’s hands shot out and took the book from his hands.

“Yes, yes...I could use this.” He grinned a grin full of mossy, rotten teeth. “Or else as a wiper.  Here.”

He reached into the pocket of his threadbare pants and produced a rather large acorn.  He tossed it in their general direction and Alistair caught it clumsily.

“Good,” Cassan said with a glower. “Let’s just give it to the tree and find a way into the werewolves’ lair.  I’m getting sick of this forest.”

\--

Cassan felt a shiver go down her spine.  The others were ahead of her, apparently having not noticed it.  The feeling of thinness in the ruin.  The way everything felt at once still and moving rapidly.  She could feel it.  Voices whispered across her mind.  She saw Theron still and press his hand against his ear and it made her frown.

“The Veil’s thin here,” she announced with an air of superiority.

She strode to catch up with them, ignoring the voices.

“Even I can see that,” Alistair remarked.

“Feel it,” Devyn corrected.

Theron curled his lip but said nothing.  Cassan wondered about him.  Again, he was acting differently.  Maybe he was hungry, like he always seemed to be.  Or sick.  Kierin said he often fell ill and she had heard him sniffing through a stuffed nose back in that eerie stillness of the forest.  Cassan frowned again.

_Why do I care?_

“Is this Elven or Tevinter?” she asked him instead. “Back in the Circle, there were books about Tevinter architecture...”

To that, Theron shrugged.

“I never really paid that much attention to the Hahren’s stories.”

She bit back a comment about his terse reply and just nodded.

“Are you into architecture?” Devyn asked.

“What?”

“Well you said you read a book about Tevinter architecture and--”

Cassan cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“No.  I only read it because I wanted to show off everything I knew about magisters and show the other apprentices how much better I was than them,” she blurted out.  Strangely, after she said it, she felt a blush heat up her cheeks in embarrassment.

Devyn looked at her for a moment, his gaze weirdly intense thanks to those scars.

“So you really didn’t have any friends at the Circle?”

Cassan bit the side of her lip at his question.  A face flashed in her mind’s eye but she willed it away.

“No.  Nobody.  I didn’t want to be their friend anyway.”

“Oh...that’s kinda sad.”

She shrugged and moved to push past him.

“Come on.  Let’s just get on with it.”

\--

The two guards sat in the garrison of the old castle.  They were ostensibly on watch but one had pulled a deck of cards from the pouch at his waist and they had been playing diamondback for the past several hours.

“You think what the others are saying is true?” one asked.

“That depends.  What are they saying?” the other asked back.

“This place is...” He looked around before answering, “haunted.”

A snorted laugh from his companion.

“Haunted?”

“Well...a lot of death happened here.  Maybe it tore the Veil.”

At the other man’s incredulous look, he continued.

“How else do you explain most of us turning up dead?”

The guards’ shields bore a bear--the heraldry of Amaranthine.  Arl Howe.  The skeptical guard lit a pipe and puffed on the end, shaking his head.  There was only a token force at the not yet renamed Castle Cousland and smaller still now that they kept stumbling upon their fellow soldiers’ dead bodies.

“Bandits, more like.  Howe ain’t here to make order so people are thinking they can just step in.  Besides, the Couslands were popular.  They could have supporters picking us off in revenge.”

“You think?”

The guard put his pipe down on the table. “I’m sure of it.”

Neither had time to react before it happened.  From somewhere near the ceiling came the angry twanging sound of a bowstring being pulled.  It came twice before the guards could move an inch.  One arrow pierced the first guard’s throat.  The second guard, Serrah Skeptical, got one right in his eye.

A shadow jumped down from the rafters and made its way over to the table where the guard’s pipe still lay smoking.  Picked it up and puffed on it, staring at their corpses.  Two more down.

\--

Theron pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.  Since he had entered these ruins, he had had the worst headache.  Worse still, he knew that he was getting sick.  His skin felt frayed, the slightest touch causing him to shiver in pain.  His nose was stuffed up and he was feeling simultaneously hot and cold.  

When he was very small, he would stay in the Aravel with Ashalle when he was sick.  She would make him herb-steep and stroke his hair.  She still did that even when he was older and foolishly thought he left his sickness behind.  He felt a pang of homesickness again.  He suddenly wished for nothing more than to wake up from this.  Wake up from hearing the death rattle in Duncan’s chest whenever he was alone.  Wake up from this horrible living death he found himself in.  That this was just a dream.  He scowled at himself.  He was being pathetic.  Weak.  He hated being weak.  If he had to be weak physically then he shouldn’t have to be weak mentally as well.

Worse still, these ruins were far too similar in design to the one where Tamlen...Tamlen was lost.  Where he and Kierin contracted this illness that ruined their lives and cursed them to this.  Where he had to lose his lover and his life in one fell swoop.

He stopped to catch his breath, taking in deep but rapid gulps.

“Are you alright?” Devyn asked.

He nodded, unable to say anything else.  A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he turned, peeking through his hair to see Alistair.

“Here, I’ve got some water.”

He held the skin out for him but when Theron took it, he saw that his hands were shaking too much to hold it.  Alistair squirted some water into his mouth, not saying a word of mocking.  He appreciated it.  Even Cassan wasn’t her usual derisive self.  He swallowed the water, savoring the way it soothed his throat.  It wouldn’t abate his sickness but the coldness of it cleared his mind at least a little.

Theron eased himself off of the wall and let out a shaky breath.

“Are you alright?” Devyn repeated.

“I...think so.”

He shivered but he was unsure if it was because of whatever sickness was coming on or the chill in the cave.  Noticing it, Devyn began digging around in his pack.  He produced a cloak and handed it to him.

“Why do you have that?” Cassan asked.

He screwed his mouth to the side before answering.

“Maeve thought I might get cold so she put it in there.  Here, Theron.”

It was an ugly thing made of undyed wool but Theron still eased it around his shoulders and clasped it at the neck.  It provided warmth, at least.

“When we get back,” he said, eyeing all of them, “don’t tell Kierin I’m sick.  He’ll get all weird.”

Devyn raised a palm in understanding.  The way Maeve mothered him when he was well was bad enough, Theron didn’t want to imagine how protective she’d get if the he was sick.

“Say no more.”

Alistair was still staring at him, a frown on his face.  Theron scowled and folded his arms over his chest.

“What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.  Just...if you need to stop, you can just ask.  It’s alright.”

He was prepared to make an angry, snappish comment but the look on Alistair’s face was far too earnest.  He really was just being thoughtful.

“Ma serannas.”

“I, uh, don’t know what that means.”

He sighed. “Just say ‘you’re welcome,’ Alistair.”

His face cleared as if he got the meaning of what Theron had said originally and he smiled.

“Hey!” Devyn exclaimed. “That’s the first time you’ve called him Alistair!”

Theron looked at him.

“What?”

He shrugged his shoulders as he eased his pack back on under his axe.

“Well, you and Kierin always refer to him as Shemlen.  That’s the first time you’ve called him by his name.”

“Oh...I guess that is true.”

Theron hadn’t thought of it before Devyn brought it up.  While he didn’t share his Clan-mate’s distaste for non-Dalish elves, he did share his dislike and distrust for humans.  Theron never liked humans and he still didn’t like humans but Alistair wasn’t that bad, all things considered.

“We should get going,” Cassan said, though the usual petulance was absent from her voice.

“Are you alright to walk?” Devyn held his hand out for him.

Theron nodded but shook off needing assistance.  His steps weren’t as sure as they were normally but he could walk.

“What is it?” Cassan asked. “Like is it some sort of fever or--”

“I don’t know,” he interrupted.

She put her usual scowl on her face and stomped ahead. “Whatever.”

Theron sighed and followed.  They all still had a long way to go.

\--

Devyn swung his axe in a wide arc to lop the head off of the horror.  The magic around them dissipated and the skeletons attacking them clattered to the ground, as lifeless as they once were.

“Nice!” Alistair said excitedly.

He rushed over to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.  Devyn grinned up at him and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well, uh, I just had to get close enough, y’know?”

“Don’t be modest.  You were...”

Alistair trailed off and blushed and Devyn looked away, feeling a blush heat his cheeks as well.  He knew he had to get over his crush on Alistair but it was lingering...like one of Theron’s colds.  Worse, still, sometimes he felt like his feelings were being reciprocated and then Alistair would clam up or change the subject.  Well, two could do that.

“I mean, someone had to.  Theron isn’t shooting as well as he usually is and Cassan is still all weird from touching that vial.  And you were fighting off the corpses.”

He spared a glance over his shoulder to where Theron was pulling his arrows both from the skeletons and the ground.  Cassan sat behind him, rubbing her temples.  Apparently, touching a vial in a hidden room had shared memories of an ancient, elven technique in her mind but she seemed to still be reeling from them.

“Now, come on!” he said. “We’re almost to the werewolves!”

Alistair smiled at him and said, “You’re still excited aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah!  Alistair, I’ve wanted to meet werewolves since before I could walk.  And now I’m meeting them!” he clenched his fists and bounced up and down on his feet.

He laughed.  The sound of it stilled something in Devyn and he stopped bouncing.  He knew Alistair didn’t mean it like that but suddenly he was reminded of the laughter back in the Alienage.  Usually he didn’t notice it but it was hard to stay oblivious when everyone laughed and talked about how weird he was.  He didn’t mind it--he knew he was weird--but the laughter soon became reminiscent of the human boys who...no.  Those boys weren’t the other elves in the Alienage and neither of them were Alistair.

“I think it’s cute,” Alistair said and then looked away, blushing. “I mean...your excitement.  It’s infectious.”

Devyn felt his anxiety melt away and he grinned up at him.  Maybe he wasn’t far off with his thoughts on reciprocation.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I...uh...”

He turned and started walking further into the ruins.

“It’s okay, Al,” he said without turning around. “I think you’re cute, too.”

\--

Cassan grabbed the sword from the skeleton’s hand.  The bones cracked and the hand hung limply to the hilt as she spun it around.  The sword didn’t feel heavy.  She had never held a sword before in her life and yet she was able to swing it.  The blade even connected in the side of the werewolf.  A muffled yelp came from the beast as it fell, dead.  Her head throbbed and the blade fell from her hand.  She let out a gasp and grabbed at her temples.  The elf whose phylactery she’d found...his memories still rushed through her head.  Both mage and warrior...was that why she was able to hold that sword?

“You alright?” This from Theron.

She looked up and nodded.  She tried to put her usual scowl on her face but it wouldn’t move from a pained grimace.

“You aren’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “I know a thing or two about how people look when they’re ill and...you’re ill.”

She shook him off and walked ahead.

“Come on,” she urged. “We’re almost to their lair.  I can feel it.”

“Yes, you can feel it.  It has nothing to do with us suddenly and miraculously running into werewolves to fight when before there were none.”

She didn’t like the wry, sarcastic tone to Alistair’s voice.  Next to him, Devyn laughed his obnoxious raspy cackle.

“Shut up, both of you!”

Theron smirked and pulled the hood up on the cloak he wore.

“They’ve got a point, Cassan.”

“You too, sicky.”

He smirked and sniffled through a stuffed up nose.  All things considered, she was starting to not mind these three.  Devyn hadn’t yapped at all about her fancying Morrigan and Theron seemed to be more than a vain glutton.  Even Alistair, easy target though he was, was kind of bearable most of the time.  When his mouth was shut, anyway.

Together, the four of them walked into the next cavern where a small group of werewolves were assembled.  She didn’t see Swiftrunner around them--she would have recognized his lighter coat--but figured he could be in the shadows, waiting.

“Let me talk to them,” Alistair whispered.

“No, no, let me!” Devyn insisted. “I’ll control my temper this time, promise.”

He made the sun symbol over his chest and beamed earnestly at Alistair.  Cassan counted to three before she saw his shoulders drop as he caved.  She was a bit surprised.  Alistair lasted more than a second trying not to go along with what Devyn wanted.

Devyn stepped in front of them and up to the werewolves.  He crossed his arms and bowed, the way one would to royalty.  The werewolves looked amongst each other, surprised.

“The Grey Wardens seek parley with your leader, Witherfang,” he said.

Cassan raised her brows.

“Color me shocked,” she murmured. “He can solve problems without punching things.”

The werewolf at the head of the group regarded him with predator’s eyes.  Shifted his glance upwards at the rest of them.

“Yes, the Lady of the Forest has agreed to speak with you,” he growled. “She demands no further bloodshed.”

“As do we.” Devyn held his palm out to the side. “Let’s meet with her.”

The werewolves took off on all fours into a side area of the ruins.  They followed, quick as they could.

“Good job,” Alistair whispered. “You sounded properly diplomatic.”

Devyn beamed. “I did?  Good.  I was trying to imitate Valendrian, our Hahren from back in the Alienage.  He’s always been really good at keeping things calm.”

The room the werewolves led them to resembled a main hall.  In fact, to Cassan, it looked a bit like the Great Hall back at the Circle.  The size and shape was generally the same.  The crumbling walls and big thick roots, though, were another story.  At what looked like a pulpit stood a large collection of werewolves and, at the center of them, what looked like what Cassan figured a tree spirit would look like.  The figure was green and covered in thin, vein-like roots.  Long hair fell over large, bare breasts and blank, black eyes stared out at them.

“Greetings, Wardens.” The voice that spoke was high and melodious. “I am the Lady of the Forest.”

Moving in jerky unison, the four of them bowed.  A smile quirked onto the Lady’s lips.  Those blank eyes landed on Theron.

“You are Dalish.  Of Zathrian’s Clan?”

He shook his head. “No.  My...my father was, long ago, but I am of the Sabrae Clan.  Keeper Marethari’s Clan.”

“Yes...” She closed her eyes for a moment. “I remember your father.  He looked like you, did he not?”

Theron shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.  I never met him.”

“It does not matter.  We are not here to discuss your father.” Cassan decided not to mention that it was she who brought it up in the first place.  Her attack werewolves looked itching for a fight. “You are here to do Zathrian’s bidding, yes?”

Alistair opened his hands out in a gesture of goodwill.

“We seek aid against the Blight.  We can’t get the elves to help us without doing this.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“But you do not know the whole story.”

Theron held his hand up and when the Lady acknowledged him with a hitch of her chin, he folded his arms over his chest.

“I think I can fill it in.  You’re not just the Lady of the Forest.  You’re Witherfang.  Zathrian created the curse and, thus, created you.  You’re now attacking his Clan in revenge and maybe trying to find a way to force him to end it in order to save his own people.” He motioned outwards with one of his practiced, graceful gestures. “Am I close?”

“Very.  There is more.” Her eyes narrowed again. “Find Zathrian and bring him here.  Get the whole story.”

Cassan swallowed and rubbed her temples again.  The memories were settling against her own and the pain was nearly all the way gone.

“That might take awhile.”

She gestured to her side.

“There is an exit, there.  It leads to the entrance of the ruins.  We had barricaded it to prevent you from entering our sanctum.  Use it and return quickly.  We shall be waiting.”

Cassan frowned, wondering if she meant that threat that dangled on the end of her words.

“We’ll get right on it,” Alistair promised.

They turned and left.  As they did, werewolves growled at them a bit threateningly but said nothing.

“You know,” Devyn said as they began mounting the great staircase upwards. “I just realized something...these werewolves can talk.”

“Yeah, they’ve been talking to us since we entered this blighted forest,” Cassan shot back. “You’re real observant there, Dev.”

“No, you’re not getting it.” He shook his head. “Everything I’ve read about werewolves says that they’re mindless beasts.  I just didn’t think about it until now.  That they can talk means...they’re overcoming their nature.  That’s why the attack was calculated.  That makes sense now.”

“Zathrian also said that they’re mindless beasts,” Alistair added.

“Zathrian says a lot of things,” Theron muttered.

“So what are we going to do?” Cassan asked.  She wasn’t sure why she was asking.  Used to be she only had to decide for herself.  Being part of a team was strange.

“We’re going to do what we said we’d do,” Devyn said. “We’re gonna bring Zathrian to talk to the Lady.  And if he doesn’t come...”

He cracked his knuckles.

“Ah, there’s the little elf who likes solving things with punches,” Alistair quipped.

They reached the top of the stairs and had Devyn open the massive door for them.  It came as no surprise to any of them that when they stepped back into the entrance of the ruins, Zathrian was already there.

“Convenient,” Theron deadpanned.

He turned and righted himself into his ramrod straight pose.

“Ah, Wardens!  You’ve returned.  Have you got the heart?”

Devyn felt around his leathers at imaginary pockets.

“Molly Androlly, I knew we were forgetting something.”

Zathrian’s brow knit together in confusion.  When he spoke, he directed it at Theron.

“I don’t understand.  Why have you returned?”

Theron snorted derisively and pushed the hood back from his head.

“Drop the act.  We know you cast the curse.”

He glared and said, speaking slowly, “I would watch how you speak to your elders, da’len.”

Theron narrowed his eyes.

“Halam sahlin, Keeper.  The Lady of the Forest wants to speak to you.  Wants to end the curse.  The werewolves have regained their minds.”

“That I doubt.”

“See for yourself.  We’ve been sent to parley.  End any more unnecessary bloodshed.”

Zathrian’s lips curled back into a vicious snarl.

“Unnecessary bloodshed?  Do you know why I cursed those beasts?  What they did to my family?!  Centuries ago, shemlen killed my son!  They violated my daughter!  That is what shem do and that is what those beasts did.  I simply made their outer appearance match their insides.  They are monsters!”

“Their ancestors were!” Alistair argued. “And your people are suffering, too.”

He cast a glare towards him. “Surprise, the shemlen aligns with his own kind.  But the rest of you.  You’re all elves.  Why aren’t you siding with your own people?”

Theron looked about to speak but Devyn beat him to it.

“Oh, stop that bullshit, Zathrian,” he snapped. “You’ve done nothing but treat me, Cassan, and my cousin like shit since we got here.  You never talk to us directly.  You call us flat-ears.  Now that you want us to be on your side, suddenly we’re elf enough for you?  Fuck off, old man.  My family has been through that, too.  My mother was killed by humans.  My cousin Shianni...look, humans are shit.  But your people are suffering and you’re just going to stick to these damned principles as if it’ll help?  No.  You’re going to come with us to parley with the Maker-damned werewolves.  Whether you go on your own or I toss you down there is your choice.”

He ended his tirade by spitting near Zathrian’s feet.  Cassan looked at him, surprised and a little impressed.

“Rather impressive speech, flat-ear.”

“The fuck did I just say?” Devyn pounded his fist into his open palm. “I don’t care how much magic he has; I’m going to thrash him.”

Zathrian held his hand out. “It is unsurprising that a flat-ear is as violent as his shemlen masters.”

Cassan saw Devyn’s eyes go wide before narrowing down into a look of hot rage.  She couldn’t blame him.  She was itching for a chance to knock him around a little herself.

“We’re elves when it’s convenient to you,” she snapped through clenched teeth. “At least.  Meet with them.  Or else.”

“Or else?  Da’len, you will let your supposed fellow Wardens speak to me like this?”

He looked at Theron who stood rigid.

“You are not my Keeper,” he said slowly. “Ar’din nuvenin na’din.  Go down to parley with the werewolves.”

Finally Zathrian relented.  He sighed.

“Alright fine.  But I don’t see what good it will do.”

\--

Maeve scratched the dog idly behind his ears and sighed.  It was too long.  They had been gone for too long.  She turned to Kierin and got to her feet.

“Come on.  We’re going to look for them.”

He jumped up and let out a harsh sigh.

“Finally.”

“You’ve that little faith in us, eh?”

The voice that spoke was most definitely Theron’s.  Maeve turned to see all four of their fellow Wardens had come back to camp.  Inexplicably, Theron was wearing the cloak she had put into Devyn’s pack.  Judging by the way he kept sniffling, she figured that he had indeed gotten sick out there in the woods.

“What happened?” Kierin demanded.

The four of them glanced amongst each other before Devyn spoke.

“We got Zathrian to end the curse...he’s dead now.”

Lanaya rushed to them, apparently having heard.

“Zathrian’s dead?” she demanded. “How?”

“The curse was tied to his life,” Theron explained. “Ending the curse meant ending his life.  He...was a hero in the end.”

“Yeah, as much as I don’t want to admit it, he made the right choice,” Devyn added.

Lanaya smiled.

“Thank you, Wardens.  All of you.  Should you need us, the Dalish shall be here to answer your call.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Alistair breathed out, looking skyward. “That wasn’t for nothing.”

Theron reached under the cloak.

“Before we go...” He pulled out something that looked like wood that made Maeve wonder how he could carry it. “I need to see your Master Valendrian about this ironbark.”

\--

Back at camp, spirits were high.  Theron and Devyn had argued at the Dalish camp about whether to make armor or a bow from the ironback until the Clan’s craftsmen said he could make both.  Now Theron had a flashy bow and Devyn had armor that actually fit.  Even Leliana’s dreary report from Denerim couldn’t dampen their spirits.  One hurdle had been overcome.  They were closer to their goal.

“What day is it?” Devyn asked. “It feels like it’s been so long, I don’t think I even know what month it is...”

He was sitting at the fire, admiring the way the flames glinted off of his new armor.  Maeve couldn’t help but smile.  Devyn never had many clothes that were his.  Back at the Alienage, he wore his father’s old cast-offs.  The only clothes that were his were things Aunt Chelis knit for him before she died.  He was rubbing dirt off of its curved breastplate with a cloth and humming to himself.

“The last day of Solace,” Leliana reported dutifully. “I saw a calendar at the Pearl.”

The cloth he was holding fell from his hand and landed on the ground soundlessly.  Maeve drew in a sharp breath.  She too had lost track of the days.

“I...need to...”

He put his armor down near his pack and crawled into his tent without another word.

“What’s his problem?” Kierin asked with his usual tact.

Maeve sighed and looked up at the moon.

“It’s the day his mother died.”

She knew she remembered that day more clearly than Devyn did since he wasn’t even five yet but it always weighed heavily on his mind.  She wondered if he remembered the way the men kicked him in the stomach when he cried out for her and told him he would be next if he didn’t toe the line.  How he had cried harder than she had ever seen him cry before as Uncle Cyrion held him.  How she herself had broken down, weeping on them both.

“What should we...?” Alistair trailed off and stared at the tent, biting his lip.

“Leave him alone,” she advised. “Devyn always holes up on the anniversary.  It might even be worse since he didn’t know it was today until now.  Just...let him be.  He’ll come out on his own.”

Kierin gave her an incredulous look.

“Even you aren’t going to mother him?”

Maeve shrugged.

“It’s the last thing he wants right now.  I know how he gets.  Now come on, the rest of you go to sleep.  Alistair, you and Leliana take watch.”

Maeve cast a worried look at her cousin’s tent and sighed.  It seemed to get worse every year.  She could only hope that one day he wouldn’t have to do this.

\--

“One thing I found out is that there are reports of Arl Howe’s men dying in Highever.” Leliana frowned. “I should have told that to Maeve.  It could be important.”

Alistair shrugged. “Run it by her in the morning.  I’m kind of tired of strategizing right now, to be honest.”

She nodded as if she understood and stifled a yawn.  Alistair couldn’t help but bristle a little.  All she did was prowl around Denerim.  She didn’t wander through an ancient ruin and fight werewolves.  Why did she get to be tired?

A rustling came behind them and Alistair turned to see Devyn stumbling out of his tent.  His eyes were red and the skin around them was puffy--he could even tell despite the scars.  He looked around blankly and sat at the fire, knees drawn to his chest.

Leliana looked behind them and stood up, clearing her throat.

“I need to go...” She gestured to the bushes and ran off.

That left the two of them alone.  Alistair had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

That was all wrong.  Sorry for what?  Sorry that his mother was dead?  Devyn shrugged and rested his chin on his knees.

“I don’t remember her face,” he said quietly. “It gets fuzzier every year...what she looked like.  That’s what hurts the most.”

“You know, you did well today,” he said. “With Zathrian and all that...I...I obviously don’t know her, but I think she’d be proud of you.”

He laughed a little, a harsh sound like saltwater on a cut.

“You’re really trying, huh?  To make me feel better?”

“Is it working?”

A small smile ghosted onto his face.

“A little.”

“Oh, good.  That’s.  Good.”

Alistair watched the fire play off of his face and realized, for the first time, that Devyn was kind of beautiful.  Not an obvious beautiful like Theron was but beautiful in his own way.  Scars and all.

“Devyn...I want...” He swallowed thickly and thought better of what he was going to say.  It wasn’t the right time.

He turned to him and cocked his head to the side.

“You want what?”

Alistair started to shake, unsure if he would be able to get it out.

“I want...to kiss you.”

There, it was said.  He couldn’t take it back.  Devyn stared at him for a moment and that same small smile came on his face.

“I wouldn’t stop you.”

Alistair leaned in and, at the last moment, realized that he had never kissed anyone before.  He wasn’t even sure how one went about kissing.  Luckily, Devyn noticed his trepidation and leaned in, taking the initiative.  He tilted Alistair’s face down and gently pressed his lips to his.  The touch sent a shock through his entire system and he felt on fire.  It was a good burn, though.  An ardent burn.  He deepend it, pulling Alistair closer to him.  His hands floundered a bit before they found purchase at the small of his back.  Devyn’s hands went to the back of his head, his fingers teasing the short, cropped hairs there.

“Alright, Alistair, Leliana, your watch is--”

They pulled apart, startled at the sudden intrusion.  Alistair turned and saw Maeve staring at them both.  Her mouth was slack and her eyes wide.

“Um...” Alistair began.

“Hi,” Devyn squeaked.

Behind her, Theron stepped out, apparently willing to take his first watch.  The smirk on his face let them know that he had seen everything as well.

“About time,” he said, laughing.


	8. Chapter 8

Zevran leaned against the toppled caravan and sighed.  This ruse was laughable at best.  Still, he had no idea how gullible these Wardens were and if they wandered into his trap, he was all the better for it.  He wasn’t alone, at least.  The assassins with him weren’t Crows, but they weren’t totally inept either.

Either way, it didn’t matter to him.  If he won, he won and got to carry on.  If he lost, there would be release.  He flicked his wrists so the handles of the blades sheathed there fell into his hands.  With another flick, they were out and ready to be used.  He saw the girl he recruited--an apostate, it seemed--round the corner.  A barely perceptible smirk was on her face.  Zevran frowned.  None of these assassins were good at even keeping a cover.  Sure enough, the Wardens that followed her already had their weapons in hand.  He was in luck--in a manner of speaking.  All six were present and accounted for.  All six were here and armed.

Before he made his move, his eyes sought out the one he had seen in the sketches.  The pretty one.  He spotted him at the rear of the group.  A bow was strung over his shoulders but, like Zevran, he held daggers in his hands.  He was still too far away to see anything more than a distance-blurred face and his long, blue-black hair.  Just as well that he couldn’t see him.  After everything that happened, the last thing he needed was to get distracted by a pretty face.

The apostate girl took her place next to him and conjured electricity to her hands.

“Molly Androlly!” the little elf with the facial scars cried in mock-surprise. “We’ve been bamboozled!”

A blond elf--a massive, burly thing--scowled and spat on the ground.

“What’re the odds?”

Zevran cleared his throat and pointed at them with the tip of his blade.

“The Grey Wardens die here.”

“Sure we will!” This elf punctuated her statement by firing a purple bolt of energy at one of the assassins on the ridge.

Zevran swallowed and his blood began pumping.  A smile eased onto his face.  If he was going down, it was going to be glorious.

He leapt forward, knives raised and ready to fight.  He tried to catch the little one but for one carrying a weapon so large, he moved remarkably quickly.  He turned and ducked behind Zevran.  He didn’t turn around but he saw him lift the axe behind him.  A strangled scream rented the air and the hum of magic from the apostate behind him stopped.  Zevran smirked.  The little one was smart.  He went after the mage first.  He would have to return the favor.

The Warden’s mage was firing bolts from her staff as well as her hands.  When enemies drew close, she used the staff as a weapon itself, hitting the assassins he had recruited in the face to knock them back before she sizzled them with her purple bolts.

The big elf was in the thick of things with the little one.  The juxtaposition of them in any other case would make Zevran laugh.  The sole human and the other elven woman were attacking on the ridges.  As he feared, these assassins were not up to par.  Maybe part of him wanted to die but not like this.  This fight was laughable.

He realized then that the gorgeous elf wasn’t in sight.  He heard the light fall of feet behind him and turned just in time to see his beautiful face stretched into a wickedly evil grin.

“Dareth shiral, ma’falon.”

Zevran had no idea what he said but he assumed it was sarcastic by the tone of his voice.  He hadn’t time to react since the elf brought the handle of his blade and hit him across the back of the head.  Everything went dark, then.

\--

Zevran was aware of a throbbing on the back of his head but the pain was welcome.  He knew, at least, that he was alive.  He groggily opened his eyes and found himself staring at a pair of bare feet.  The feet led up to tapered ankles and then to legs covered by leather leggings.  The leggings gave way to a tunic that looked both like fabric and armor.  Above that was the face of that gorgeous elf.  He was looking down, his sage-colored eyes narrowed in a glare.  His bountiful black hair spilled over one shoulder, bound in three braids.

“Oh, this is quite the sight to wake up to,” he managed.  Not his best material but all he could do under such circumstances.

He didn’t know why these Wardens spared him but he didn’t want to get on their bad sides.

“Really?” the blond elf with the muscles scoffed. “He’s awake not even for a half a second and he’s already hitting on Theron?”

The gorgeous elf--this Theron--smirked and stroked a hand down his braids.

“Can you blame him, though?”

One of the others he couldn’t see from his position sighed.  Theron moved aside and one of the other elves bent down.  She looked to be a bit older than the others and had short, curly hair that sprang out all over her head.  Her gaze was steady, even, and almost kind.  Zevran smiled at her and got a scowl in return.

“Who hired you?” she demanded.

Unlike Theron and his burly friend who spoke, her voice bore no accent other than the usual eastern Fereldan he had heard often on his trip through Denerim.

“Ah, you want information?” Zevran smiled again. “That I can provide.”

He got himself up into a seated position and rubbed the back of his head.  He looked at his arms, unsurprised to find them bare.  Of course the Wardens would disarm him, though they couldn’t know everywhere he kept his knives.

“My name is Zevran, Zev to my friends.  I was hired by Arl Howe on the behest of Teryn Loghain, though I don’t think he ever looked me in the eye...anyhow, I was to kill all of you.  Which I have failed at.  Spectacularly.”

The little elf with the scars let out a phlegmy, raspy laugh.

“Yeah, just a little bit.  Most you did was cut Alistair up a little.”

He jerked his thumb to the human who held a cloth over his rather impressive bicep.  Oh, he was an attractive one.  He had nothing on that Theron but he was quite handsome in his own right.  Zevran had no idea that the Wardens recruited such handsome fellows into their ranks.

“My sincerest apologies, my friend.”

The human gave him a wide-eyed look of confusion while the scarred elf growled.

“Back off.  He’s mine.” The anger left his face for a moment and he blushed. “Uh...I mean...”

The human gave a small smile and put the hand of his injured arm on his shoulder.

“It’s alright.  We’re each other’s, aren’t we?”

“Gross,” the mage deadpanned.

Zevran supposed that the one with the freckles was their leader because when she cleared her throat, they pulled apart.

“So Loghain hired you.  Why?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t ask.  Howe fed me a story about how you let the King die but I assumed you challenged his power.  As it was, I wasn’t paid to ask.”

“That accent.  You’re not from here.”

“Astute, my dear.” He winked at her. “I hail from Antiva.”

“You’re a Crow!” the little scarred one exclaimed. “You’re a Crow, aren’t you?”

“A what?” Theron and his friend asked this in unison.

Freckles, as he privately dubbed their leader, frowned at him.

“Cousin, how do you know that?”

“I read it.” He turned to look at him, eyes wide. “You’re a Crow, right?”

Zevran smiled and turned his hand out.

“Yes, I am a Crow.  Or, well, I was.  As I failed, my life is forfeit either to you or to them.  If given a choice, I’d prefer you.”

“Who’s to say we won’t just kill you?” the mage asked.

“I’m dead either way but...if I may...I have a proposition.”

“Oh?” the human asked. “This should be good.”

“I owe nothing to Loghain and, thus, to the Crows.  However, as you have yet to kill me, I owe a great deal to all of you.  I suggest this: take me with you.  I am useful and, hey, not bad to look at, no?” He flashed a winning smile at the group.

The big elf snorted and folded his arms.  Zevran aimed his smile at him and saw a blush rise to cheeks.  He wasn’t terrible-looking, that one.

“You must think we’re some kind of--” the human started.

“Alright.” Theron cut him off. “We accept.”

“We do?” the mage asked.

“We do.”

He stepped forward and held out his hand for Zevran to clasp.  Smiling, he got to his feet.

“Once again, thank you for sparing me.” He turned Theron’s hand over and placed a kiss on the top of it.

Theron jerked him close to him and got him to look at his unbearably beautiful face.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

He nodded and bowed before him.

“I will not.  I swear it to you all.”

Theron released his hand and went back over to the tall, burly elf.

“What?”

“You spared an assassin.”

Theron shrugged his shoulders and loped away gracefully.  Zevran watched him, unable to take his eyes off of him.  He fell in step with the Wardens, not wanting to draw any further attention to himself.  He looked at the little one, wondering when he was going to learn the rest of their names.

“You’ve read about the Crows?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah.  They were in a story from one of the books I’d borrow from our shopkeeper in the Alienage.  A werewolf was ravaging the hills of Antiva so the King called the Crows to assassinate it.  The werewolf massacred all of them.” He closed his eyes merrily and smiled a wide, cheerful smile.

“...How nice.” Zevran took a step away from him.

\--

Maeve knew she was acting selfishly.  When Leliana had reported the deaths of Howe’s men in Highever, they had decided that a small group should investigate in case whoever was killing the guards would be an ally.  Maker knew they needed more people on their side.  She had opted to bring Cassan for her magic and Zevran because she didn’t trust leaving him alone just yet.  She also took the dog and Alistair.  The former was for tracking and the latter was because she wanted to get him away from her cousin.  That was where the selfishness lay.  While Alistair was useful, she only brought him so he and Devyn could spend some time apart.  She still didn’t like the idea of them seeing one another.  She tried to rationalize that it was a distraction to their cause but really she was just worried.  Devyn had been hurt by humans in the past and, earnest as Alistair seemed, she didn’t fully trust him.

“Alistair,” she asked. “How many men have you been with?  Women?”

He looked at her, aghast.

“What?  That seems...out of nowhere.”

“Answer the question.”

He looked away and mumbled something under his breath.  Zevran and Cassan turned, both visibly curious.

“What was that?”

He sighed and refused to meet her gaze.

“None.  I’ve never been with anyone before.”

That answer Maeve hadn’t been expecting.

“You have not?” Zevran asked. “My friend, please.  Let me treat you to a night at the Pearl.”

Cassan made a mocking noise and Alistair ducked his head.  Maeve felt bad for bringing it up, now.  He seemed a bit embarrassed about being a virgin.

“I know this is about Devyn,” he said. “And I get that you’re upset...and, uh, concerned.  When you walked in on us kissing the other night.  That was the first time it happened but...I’m letting you know now: it probably won’t be the last.”

Maeve frowned.  She knew that.  She knew she shouldn’t have just ignored how both of them obviously fancied one another.  She didn’t want him being hurt again.

“Don’t--”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Alistair said. “At least, I don’t plan on it.  So...is that it?”

She sighed.  There was no use going on about it now.  They had no idea what they were facing at Highever and so she knew her focus should be there.

“For now.”

They continued walking until they finally reached the castle.  It was only a half day’s journey from their most recent campsite.

“What are we to expect in here?” Zevran asked.

He frowned and idly braided a forelock of blond hair that crept over his ear.

“No idea,” Maeve admitted.

“At least we have our faithful Mabari warhound,” Cassan said and it was hard to tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

A low, loud whistle came from somewhere within the castle and the dog took off, barking excitedly.  Cassan leaned in and screwed her face up angrily.

“Hey, get back here you sodding dog!” she shouted.

“Yes,” Zevran said with a chuckle. “Very faithful.”

The dog trotted back but he wasn’t alone.  With him was a human that made Alistair look small.  He had to be at nearly two meters tall and his broad shoulders strained the leather of his armor.  He had a broad mouth stretched wide in a grin and an upturned nose.  His hair was brown and cut short, the longest bits only just falling into his green eyes.  A sinister-looking longbow was strapped between those huge shoulders of his.  His arms were bare and on one massive bicep was a tattoo of a blue and silver laurel.

“Howdy,” he greeted. “I take it you aren’t with Howe.”

The dog barked excitedly and danced around his feet.

“You aren’t threatened by us?” Cassan asked.

He shrugged. “That remains to be seen.  As it is, you brought Meat back to me so you can’t be too bad.”

He crouched down and held his palm out for the dog to lick.

“Meat?” Alistair bleated incredulously. “What do you know?  The dog’s name is actually Meat.  Kierin’s going to mess himself.”

Maeve folded her arms, not entirely trusting this stranger.  He may be the one killing Howe’s men but that didn’t mean he was on their side.  There was something too easy and casual about his charm.

“Who are you?” she asked.

He glanced at her and smiled.  One hand came up and brushed some hair out of his eyes.

“What I want you to call me or my full name and title?”

“Full name and...title, I suppose.”

She had no idea what he meant by that.

“First things first, you all are Wardens, yeah?” He waved a hand as if anticipating their next question. “I heard Howe’s men yapping about you.  That means you were at Ostagar, right?”

Maeve frowned.  He was avoiding the question.

“Yes,” Cassan replied. “Why?”

“Everyone was massacred, right?  You and the Teryn’s men are all that survived?”

“As far as we know, yes,” Alistair said through clenched teeth.  Apparently the wounds were still fresh for him.

“Shit.  I was hoping you’d know about my brother.” He jerked his thumb back. “Can’t reclaim my home by myself.”

Maeve’s frown deepened.  Take back his home?   That meant...

“You’re...” she started.

“Lord Ian Cousland, at your service.” He smirked and added, “Whatever that service may be.”

Zevran grinned and looked him up and down.

“I like this one.”

Lord Ian got to his feet and folded his big, beefy arms over his chest.

“I have a question.”

Maeve cleared her throat and said, “Yes, uh, my Lord?”

He waved his hand again.

“Just Ian.  Please.  Anyway...you’re going after Loghain, right?  The Landsmeet?”

Alistair nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“Good.  I’m coming with you.”

Cassan scowled at him, getting right in his face.

“And why is that?”

Ian bent down and got right back in hers.

“Because Arl Howe is Loghain’s right-hand man.  If I want to get to Howe then throwing my lot in with you makes the most sense.”

He started walking in the direction they all had come from, Meat at his heels.

“Why do you want to kill Arl Howe?” Cassan asked.

Ian answered without even turning.

“He killed my family.  I can’t really let that slide.”

Cassan started after him, not saying another word.  Zevran followed suit, a smirk visible on his lips.  Maeve glanced at Alistair who shrugged.

“We were looking for more allies, right?”

\--

Kierin glowered.  He was left behind again.  At this rate he was never going to see any action, ever.  He regarded the others sullenly.  Devyn was reading a book outside his tent.  Theron was taking a bath.  Leliana sang to herself as she restrung her bow.  Morrigan was in her tent doing whatever it was that Morrigan did.  Sten...Kierin frowned.  Where was Sten?

“You.”

There he was.

“And you.”

Kierin turned to see him looming over him.  The first “you” presumably was him.  The other “you” seemed to be Devyn.  He looked up from his book, puzzled.

“Huh?”

“On your feet, both of you.  Ready your weapons.  We are training.”

He got to his feet and grabbed his sword by the hilt.  Devyn did likewise, spinning the handle of his axe a little in both hands.  Sten marched them to the outer fringes of camp and scowled.

“You both use a fighting style similar to mine.  Yet you are both unpracticed and weak.”

“We haven’t even seen you fight,” Kierin scoffed.

Devyn rammed his pointy little elbow into his side.  He howled in pain and whipped his head to the side to glare at him.  One look from him had Kierin staring forward again.  So that was the family resemblance between him and Maeve.  Sten crossed his arms over his chest.

“Spar.”

Kierin glanced at Devyn and hefted his sword up.  Fine.  He wanted to see how the little pipsqueak fought.  He was still a little sore about him carrying him back to camp all that time ago.  Kierin was self-sufficient.  He didn’t need help.

They squared off against each other.  Sten let out a grunt that signaled the start of the spar.  Kierin didn’t really want to hurt him and he figured Devyn felt the same so he held back.  He mostly wanted to watch him anyway.  He was still pretty sloppy with his axe but he made up for it with his brute strength.  He hit him with his shoulder and it nearly knocked him flat on the ground.  They fought like that for what felt like hours.  The whole time Sten watched them, unmoving.

“Enough.”

They stopped.

“Drop your weapons.”

They complied.  Kierin had yet to see Sten angry but he had a feeling it was nothing he would want to see.

“You.” He pointed to Devyn. “Are stronger.  Yet you don’t have the same technical abilities.  Why is that?”

“Where I’m from we aren’t allowed to even touch weapons,” Devyn replied. “Humans prefer us unarmed when they use us for target practice.”

Sten shook his head in disgust.

“Human society.  Laughable, at best.”

Devyn glanced at Kierin for a moment before turning back to Sten.

“There’s gotta be something you like about our culture.”

He paused and Kierin realized that he was actually considering the question.

“You have interesting food here,” he said finally.

“Food?” Kierin asked, letting his puzzlement coat his words.

“You have a thing...it doesn’t have a word in the Qunari tongue but they are little baked things.  Like bread but sweet and crumbly.”

Kierin still wasn’t sure what he was talking about but Devyn seemed to.

“Cookies!  You like cookies!”

“Is that what they are called?”

“Yeah.  Hold on.”

Devyn raced back to the fire and came back with a small bag he had pulled from his pack.

“Here.  I made these the other night over the fire.  Not the same as if they’d been baked but they should still be good.”

He took Sten’s hand and turned it palm up before dropping the bag into it.

“Enjoy!”

Sten seemed surprised by the gift and left them alone as he examined the contents of the bag.

“Good thinking,” Kierin said.

“Thanks...” Devyn frowned and looked down at his feet. “Hey...does this mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

He felt his face heat up.  Apparently his frustration was a bit more noticeable than he thought.

“I never...hated you.  I just...how did you get that strong?  You’re so small.”

He shrugged and ran his palm over the handle of his battlaxe.

“I’ve always been this strong.  Never really thought much about it.  I already had enough things making me weird.  This one I just accepted because it made me a little tougher.  Able to stand up for myself more.  For my cousins.”

Kierin nodded and leaned back on his hands.

“You’re the youngest?”

“Second youngest.  But I’m the smallest.  Didn’t stop me from getting my nose in everyone’s fights, though...” He laughed a little. “Maeve always got me out of it.”

“You’re close?”

He thought of Theron who was probably still washing that hair of his out in the lake.  His blood-brother.  He and Ashalle were the closest thing he had to family.

“Maeve is more like my sister than my cousin.  She’s saved me more times than I can count.”

There was more he wasn’t saying but Kierin didn’t press.  Instead he clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on.  Let’s get out of here before Sten finishes those cookies.”

\--

Theron lay on his back in the lake, his hair floating around him.  The late afternoon sky was pinkening as evening approached.  Everything was fiery though the air was starting to get a chill.  He heard laughter and sat up, his hair smacking wetly down his back.

He was surprised to see Kierin and Devyn laughing together as they stripped from their armor and pelted towards the lake.  Devyn cartwheeled into the water and Theron nearly laughed.  He was probably small enough where he didn’t even hit his head on the floor.  Kierin splashed right in like a stampeding bear.

His Clan-mate came towards him, waving.  Devyn stayed near the shore to wash up, which surprised him a fair bit more than the two of them showing up together.  Kierin paddled towards him, moving gracelessly through the water.

“Lethallin,” he said brightly.  He seemed to finally be in a good mood.  Theron was glad.  He was sick of tiptoeing around his temper for these past few weeks.

“You two...together.” Theron made hand gestures and smirked.

“Sten put us through needless training all afternoon and Devyn got us out of it by giving him cookies.”

Theron processed that with a loud laugh.  He tried to ignore the fact that he had essentially been in the lake all day and hadn’t even noticed.

“So you’re friends now?”

“He’s alright.” Kierin glanced over his shoulder. “Can’t swim, though.  Apparently Alienages don’t have any lakes or ponds to learn.”

That explained, then, why Devyn was washing up near the shore.

“Guess it makes sense.  All those buildings stacked on top of each other...there’s no place for a lake.”

Kierin nodded and treaded water for a minute, still glancing over his shoulder at Devyn.

“That probably means that Maeve can’t swim, either.”

“Huh...”

They both paused, a bit confused at the realization that there was something out there that Maeve couldn’t do.

“Have you been out here all day?”

Kierin’s voice was gruff again and Theron sighed, bracing himself for the overprotective onslaught.

“Yes.  I lost track of time.”

His face creased in a frown and Theron made a face back at him.

“Get out before you catch cold.”

“Ma abelas, Kee, I wasn’t aware that you decided to take on Ashalle’s duties entirely.”

The frown quirked up into a wry smile.

“Well someone has to make sure you don’t die out here.  If this Blight ends without you, she’s never going to forgive me.”

Theron grinned and began swimming back to shore.

“That’s right.  Because she loves me more.”

He kept his movements long and graceful just to further rub it in.  Behind him, he didn’t hear Kierin laugh.  Theron glanced over his shoulder.

“I’m kidding, lethallin.”

Kierin’s expression only minutely changed and he sighed again.  If he had known that their foster mother’s love and where or where it was not allocated was such a sore spot with him, he wouldn’t have brought it up.  Though, truthfully, he figured that he probably should have known.  He had been raised by Ashalle from birth and Kierin hadn’t.  Maybe he felt as if she did love him more, though Theron had never seen any preferential treatment directed his way.  He would have noticed since the idea of being spoiled and pampered was one of his favorite fantasies.  If Ashalle treated him any differently than Kierin it was solely because she, like everyone else in their Clan, thought him made of glass.  Ready to collapse with a cough or fever at a moment’s notice.

Though it vexed him then, Theron couldn’t help but miss her mothering and he was certain Kierin did as well.  He splashed ashore and grabbed the cloth he had brought with him.  He dried himself off and then draped the cloth over his shoulders.  His hair would need to be brushed and then left to dry for hours but he didn’t mind it.  Contrary to what others thought, it wasn’t completely effortless to look the way he looked.  He started walking back towards the main camp.

“Theron.  You do know you’re naked, right?” This from Devyn.

“Yes.  That’s how I came here.”

“Okay.  Just checking.  Carry on.”

He nodded briefly and continued walking.  He was aware of eyes on him as he returned to camp, notably from Morrigan--who had poked her head out of her tent--and Leliana.  He stretched luxuriously, enjoying the attention.

“Enter camp for the first time and I get a show.  I think I’m gonna like it with you Wardens.”

Theron jumped at the voice--one he hadn’t heard before.  He saw that the party from Highever had returned.  He didn’t mind the way Alistair looked at him and then glanced away, blushing.  He didn’t even mind the newcomer’s open gazing or Maeve’s eye roll.  Yet, when Zevran’s eyes strayed to his body, Theron felt his face heat up and he moved the cloth over his groin.

“So...someone new,” he said, keeping his voice even.

Maeve gestured to the unnecessarily large human and said, “Ian, this is Theron.  Theron, this is Ian.  He’s an archer as well.”

“The dog’s name is actually Meat,” Alistair blurted, his voice far too loud.

“I still don’t see why this is funny.”

Theron waved a hand, liking this human already.

“Talk to Kierin about it.  He’s bathing in the lake.” He smirked and gave Alistair a knowing look. “And so is Devyn.”

Alistair immediately began tugging on his armor, his eyes darting from side to side.

“Oh...well, I have been traveling all day and I am really sweaty.  I’m just going to...bathe now.”

Maeve reached forward to grab his arm but missed.  Theron laughed, which earned him a glare.  He flicked his hand towards her and started making his way back to his tent.  He exchanged his cloth for his leggings and a fresh tunic decorated with stylized Halla along the hem.  Always hating to be cooped up--it reminded him too much of being confined to the aravel when he was ill as a child--Theron went back outside with the brush from his pack to begin working it through his hair.  Sitting the way he was with his hair over his shoulder, the tips nearly touched his lap.

“I am jealous, my friend.”

Theron glanced over his shoulder to see that Zevran had apparently followed him.

“Get in line,” he retorted and then realized how conceited he sounded.  He flushed and said, “Jealous of what?”

Zevran sat next to him and gestured to his hair.

“This.  Your hair is gorgeous.

He ran the brush through it and smiled proudly.

“I know...I mean.  Ma serannas.”

“You don’t need to pretend to be modest,” Zevran said.

This time the smile that came to his face was one of relief.

“Good.  I’m terrible at it.”

Zevran turned his hand out in agreement, an odd smile on his face.  They sat in amiable silence for a moment as Theron continued to work the water-caused tangles from his hair.

“Why did you spare me?” he asked.

He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.

“You could be useful.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows.

Theron sighed and put his brush down.  With nimble fingers, he began braiding his hair.

“I don’t know why.  I just...didn’t want to kill you.”

He thought back to the bandits on the bridge before Lothering.  How they touched him with their grimy hands and how they wanted to kill all of them.  They would have probably killed him after they had their way with him.  And yet, he sometimes felt sick to stomach when he remembered killing them.  They hadn’t been attacking, not really.  Just as Zevran hadn’t been attacking them after he knocked him out.  Death was inevitable.  Him doing more killing was inevitable.  But when he could get around it and not kill someone, that was ideal.  In battle, his blood ran hot and he enjoyed it.  When he didn’t have to fight, didn’t have to kill, he didn’t.  It was simple.

“Well, I am glad that you didn’t,” Zevran said with a chuckle.  He reached forward, his hand hovering near Theron’s hair. “May I?”

He lifted a palm in ascent and Zevran tucked some behind his ear.

“It is very gorgeous.” A smile quirked up on his lips. “As are you.”

“I know,” he repeated, this time without even a false hint of modesty.

\--

Alistair arrived at the lake as Devyn was drying his hair.  He was already fully dressed and he felt a bit disappointed but, then, what would he even do if he had him naked?  He was absolutely clueless about even the mechanics of sex, especially between two people with their anatomy.  Did they simply knock them together like swords?  He felt suddenly childlike in his naivete, standing awkwardly on the shore of the lake.

“Hey!” Devyn said brightly.  He pulled the drying cloth off from his head and his still-damp hair stuck out at every angle. “You’re back!”

He stepped over to him and rose up on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek.  Just the brush of his lips sent a fire through his groin and Alistair swallowed nervously.  He put his hands on Devyn’s waist and leaned down to kiss him back on the cheek.  At the last minute, Devyn moved his head to the side and caught his lips.

“Oh,” Alistair said once they separated. “What was that about?”

He grinned cheekily and said, “Well, for one, if you’re going to get better at kissing, you’ll need a lot of practice.  And, two, I felt like it.  We can do that now, you know.”

“Do what?  Kiss each other when we please?”

Devyn nodded and then color rose to his cheeks and he looked away.

“Uh...yeah...if that’s alright.”

“Oh, it is.”

Kierin strode by them, dripping water.  He only clutched a cloth around his middle and wagged his tongue out in a show of playfulness that Alistair had never seen from him before.

“Are you friends now?” he asked once Kierin passed them.

Devyn shrugged and said, “He’s not being mean to me anymore so...I’ll take it.  I dunno if we’re friends, though.”

Alistair nodded like he understood what that meant and stroked his hand down Devyn’s back absently.

“You smell,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Go bathe.  I have to get dinner started.”

He rose up for one last kiss and then loped towards camp.  Alistair followed him with his eyes, smiling to himself.

\--

“Cassan...a word.”

Morrigan’s voice--so lyrical, so mystical--made her spine fuse.  Cassan gently rose from loading up her pack and dusted her dirty hands on the sides of her robe.

“Yes?” she asked perhaps a little too eagerly.

Morrigan had ventured all the way from her side of camp to talk to her so it had to be important.  Her heart hammered at the thought.

“You are from the Circle, yes?”

She nodded, unsure where this conversation was going.

“That is the plan,” she reported. “Why?”

Morrigan clasped her hands together in front of her and, for a moment, looked vulnerable.

“You know the layout very well then?”

“I suppose so.  I mean, I spent almost my entire life there.”

“Oh...good...” For the first time since she met her in the Wilds, Morrigan looked apprehensive. “While you are there...is it too much trouble to ask you to see if you can locate Flemeth’s grimoire?”

“Of course!” she blurted and then felt her face flush in embarrassment. “I mean...yeah, sure.  I’ll look for it.”

Morrigan smiled, really smiled, and gave a little bow.

“I thank you, Cassan.”

She walked back to her tent and, belatedly, Cassan called after her.

“Any time!”

Behind her came a low whistle and she turned to see their newest addition--that human Lord Ian--had come up.

“She has no idea, does she?” he asked.

“No idea what?” Cassan lifted one shoulder to rub at the underside of her cheek.

“No idea how much you want her to eat you.”

Her shock and anger must have registered on her face because he burst out into a loud, Mabari bark of a laugh.

“I have keen observational skills,” he explained.

“Well then how about you keenly observe me punching you in the face?”

Cassan cocked her fist back but since the only person in their merry band of misfits who she was taller than was Devyn, she had no hope of reaching Ian’s face and had to settle for her fist bouncing pathetically off of his chest.  Pain thundered through her hand and she shook it out, wincing.

“That hurt you more than it hurt me?”

She cradled her hand and glared at daggers at him.  Ian waved a hand and walked off, laughing.  Still rubbing the muscles of her hand, Cassan made her way over to where the rest of the Wardens were, which was of course listening to whatever Maeve said.  She approached and saw Kierin leaning over her, his unfairly big arms crossed over his equally unfairly broad chest.  Theron stood next to him, the rising sun setting off how glossy his blue-black hair was in a way that churned Cassan’s stomach.  Alistair stood on her other side, his hand curling down over Devyn’s slender shoulders.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

Maeve gestured to the map of Ferelden in front of them.

“The six of us are going to the Tower.  Leliana and Zevran are going back to Denerim.  Sten, Morrigan and Lord Ian--”

“Ian!”

Maeve looked up, startled at the intrusion.  Cassan followed her gaze and saw that Ian was in the middle of stamping out the campfire with his boot.  Meat yipped happily at his heels.

“Right,” she said slowly. “Sten, Morrigan, and Ian will guard the camp since this is a spot I don’t want to give up just yet.”

“Why are they going back to Denerim?” Theron asked.

Maeve glanced at Leliana who was packing up her belongings and then shifted her gaze to Zevran as he did his hair in a small looking glass he had propped against a rock.

“Leliana wants to gather a bit more information and...I want her to keep an eye on Zevran.  I don’t trust him yet.”

Theron crossed his arms and frowned but said no more.  Maeve seemed to take the opportunity to close that part of the conversation and continue her planning.

“It’s a couple days walk to the Tower judging by this map so we should get going now.”

\--

It was nightfall on the second day when they reached the docks at Lake Calenhad.  Kierin had never seen the Circle Tower before and seeing it rise up like an unforgiving monolith from the center of the misty lake made him shiver.  He thought of Merrill back with their Clan and how she would hate it here, being cooped up.  The thought made his mind wander to the others and wondered if they were alright.  If they made it north as they had planned.

“That’s the Tower?” Theron asked.

“That’s it,” Cassan said with her usual petulance.

“Somehow just seeing it makes a lot of things about you suddenly make sense,” Devyn quipped.

She punched him, seeming to forget about his new armor.  Her hand bounced off of the ironbark and she wailed in pain.

“Why does this keep happening?!”

Maeve turned her hand down to get them to pay attention.

“We need to get to the Tower,” she said.

“I can’t swim,” Devyn said wryly. “And neither can you.”

She sighed and Kierin heard her mumble, “Maker, give me strength” under her breath.

“There’s a dock,” Alistair suggested. “We can just...go ask someone to take us.  I’m sure if we flash the treaties, they’ll take us.”

“Yes,” Kierin said with a scowl. “Just like that Dalish Clan, right?  You didn’t have to fight werewolves and end a centuries long curse or anything.”

Alistair shrugged and said, “I’m an optimist.”

Kierin shook his head and started down the incline to the dock.  There stood a lone Templar.  Kierin assumed he was a Templar anyhow.  His armor was very grand and boasted a flaming sword on the breastplate.  The man himself had a pug nose and a head of short, curly hair.

“Whoa!” he said, holding out one gauntleted hand. “I’m not to let anyone across the lake.  Orders of Knight-Commander Gregoir.”

“Figures,” he heard Cassan mutter.

“We need to get across,” Maeve said.

She stepped in front of Kierin and held her hands out placatingly.

“And why is that?”

“We’re Grey Wardens.  We seek aid in the Blight.”

The Templar folded his arms and lifted that snub nose of his up into the air.

“Pfft.  Likely story.  I can’t let anyone across--supposed Grey Warden or not.”

Maeve reached back in her pack presumably to get the treaties but Theron stepped forward and strode towards the Templar, a smile on his face.

“It gets lonely out here, huh?” he asked. “Having to just stand watch away from the Tower...and you Templar shem...you’re not allowed to...you know, right?”

He lowered his lids and stared at the Templar through his thick lashes and Kierin’s hackles rose.  What exactly was Theron doing?  He had been acting so strangely lately.  First sparing Zevran and now he was flirting with this Templar?

“I...don’t know what business it is of yours, elf.”

Theron put one hand on the plate of his armor and drew close.

“Well...if you get us across...I can...give you a little something.”

“I am...” He swallowed. “Not interested in men.”

“Everyone’s interested in me.” He smiled and cocked his head to the side.  The Templar nodded his head slowly.

He grabbed the Templar’s hand and hauled him off.  He went willingly enough and, within minutes, they were back.  Theron was wiping his mouth and the Templar wore a smile.

“I can take you all over, lickety-fast!”

Theron sauntered by and Kierin seized his arm.

“What was that about?” he demanded.

He had the audacity to shrug.

“I wanted to help,” he replied. “And using my looks is one thing I can do.  And, besides, it’s been months since I had someone’s cock in my mouth and I kind of missed it.  Even if it was some pathetic shemlen’s...”

Theron smiled broadly and wrenched his arm free before walking into the boat.

“You put it in your mouth?!” Alistair exclaimed, his eyes wide as saucers on his face. “You can do that?”

Theron laughed and tossed his hair over his shoulder.

“Devyn, when you two finally sleep together, you have your work cut out for you.”

\--

The Circle was in chaos.  Cassan never met Uldred and she never cared to.  All she knew was that Maeve had pulled her hero card out and swore that they would save whoever they could in the Tower and now they were heading straight towards abominations without any forethought of their own safety.  She was beginning to despise being a Warden.

“Why did you make the rest of us come with you?” Theron complained. “ _Some_ of us have some sort of sense of self-preservation.”

“Be quiet!” Kierin snapped.

He turned to look at him and scowled. “You’re still mad about the Templar, aren’t you?”

“You shouldn’t have done that, lethallin!”

“Well I did.  So forget it!”

Maeve turned to glare at them both.

“Both of you be quiet,” she hissed.

Silence fell over the lot of them and Cassan found herself looking through the halls where she spent her childhood.  Everything was in disarray.  Beds were knocked over.  Chests were overturned.

_I wonder if he...no.  It doesn’t matter._

“Do you hear that?” Alistair whispered. “There’s something up ahead.”

Maeve, who was in the lead, drew her sword and crept forward.  She signaled with her hand for Theron to notch an arrow and, surprisingly, he did without further comment.  In the next chamber, they found a small gathering of mages and a rage demon.

“What is that?” Kierin demanded.

The demon surged towards the group of mages and one of them stepped in front.  Cassan recognized her, vaguely, from Ostagar when she had tried to talk to all of the mages there.  The woman lifted her staff and fired a burst of ice from the tip.  The rage demon sank into the ground and didn’t reappear.  Cassan looked around the chamber, trying to find familiar faces.  She saw only one.  A pointed nose poked out from under a thatch of face-hiding black hair.

“Amell!” she snapped. “What’s going on here?”

He turned and lifted his bangs with one hand.

“Cassan?” he asked and then she heard him mutter, “Oh, great.”

The woman who fought the rage demon turned at her shout and her wizened face creased in a frown.

“Who are you?”

Maeve held her hand out and said, “We’re Grey Wardens.  Knight-Commander Gregoir has sent us to...find survivors and bring them to safety.”

“And stop Uldred,” Devyn added. “And save the First Enchanter.”

“The Rite hasn’t been received,” Cassan said, tearing her eyes away from Amell for a moment. “They’re letting us have a chance first.”

The woman sighed and said, “But they’ve sent for it.  Then they must believe the Circle is truly lost.”

Maeve shook her head.

“But we don’t.  That’s why we’re here.”

A smile from the woman and she held her hand out.

“I am Wynne, senior enchanter of the Circle.”

“Maeve Tabris.  This is Theron, Kierin, Alistair, Cassan, and my cousin, Devyn.”

Wynne clasped Maeve’s hand and smiled. “Well met.”

She drew Maeve to the side to talk about the situation and Cassan knew she needed answers.  She turned towards Amell.

“Amell, do you know where he is?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No.  I haven’t seen him.  But there’s been so much chaos, he could have gotten out and I missed it.”

She sighed and said, “Whatever.  I don’t really care.”

Amell smirked and she was surprised.  When she’d left the Circle, he had been a pathetic, mumbling pile of nerves.

“Yes, you do or you wouldn’t have asked.”

Cassan scowled at him and he scowled right back.  Alright, so Amell grew a backbone in the months since she’d left.  His mouth softened, then, and he lifted his bangs up with one hand again.

“I wanted to thank you, you know.  For helping Jowan.”

Jowan was Amell’s best friend.  She had always wondered why he had asked her to help him escape but not him.

“Whatever,” she replied.

“No, really.  Thank you.”

She shrugged and walked away back towards the others who were waiting for Wynne to dismantle the barrier she had erected.  Cassan stopped and glanced over her shoulder.

“You’re welcome, Tobias.”

\--

Theron decided that he hated abominations.  If he had any problems with this shemlen institution before, they were merely amplified from being in the Tower.  He had never known a Dalish mage that had become an abomination.  That the mages in the Tower were pushed to it only showed how flawed it was.  He could easily see it and he knew that he wasn’t exactly stellar at observation.  Tracking, yes.  Reading political nuances, no.

“Shemlen,” Kierin muttered.

“You said it,” he replied back.  He bit his lip and added, “Are you still mad at me?”

Kierin sighed and dropped his shoulders.

“Not particularly.  I overreacted.  Ma abelas.”

He turned his hand out to let him know that all was forgiven.  He had no idea why Kierin had gotten so upset about it in the first place.  It was far from the first time that Theron had used sex to get what he wanted.  Then again, he had been acting strangely lately.  He was far more overprotective than usual.  Before he could question him about it, a low voice came from under one of the beds.

“Cassan?”

He turned and saw their resident mage freeze.  She turned her head towards the voice.

“What?”

Theron saw an elf crawl out from under the bed.  Like Cassan, he wore mage’s robes though his weren’t torn or ragged as hers were.  He had light brown skin and a mop of hair so blond it was almost white.  He walked towards them with his hands out and stopped.  Cassan took his hands and brought them to her face.  Theron was confused for a moment before he saw the white milkiness of his eyes.  He was blind.  More than that, he saw that this newcomer and Cassan had the same high cheekbones and narrow little chins.

“It is you,” he said with relief and dropped his hands. “I thought I heard you.”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He shrugged and said, “I couldn’t leave.”

“Are you gonna introduce us?” Devyn asked.

Cassan turned and sighed, holding her hand out to the elf.

“This is Castor.  My twin brother.”

A brief silence followed that Theron broke with his laughter.

“Castor and Cassan?  What were your parents thinking?”

This time Cassan’s punch actually landed and caused him to cry out in pain.


	9. Chapter 9

Leliana felt ill at ease.  It had nothing to do with Zevran’s presence.  He was pleasant, if forward, even though she was instructed to keep on eye on him.  If Maeve knew about her, she probably wouldn’t trust her, she realized.  She wanted to tell the Wardens the truth but each day it grew harder to reveal her true self.  At current, she had their trust and she didn’t want to lose it.

“I do not think we will find any information here,” Zevran reported.

“No, Maeve just wanted you out of camp.”

He turned his palm out in understanding.  They were in the middle of the Denerim marketplace and, both in traveling leathers, looked a bit out of place amongst the refugees and shop owners.

“Leliana...I have a question.”

She raised her eyebrows in a prompt to let him continue.

“What do you know about Theron?”

That she hadn’t been expecting.  She conjured his image into her mind’s eye--particularly the rather pleasing image from the other night when he paraded around camp naked.

“I haven’t really spoken to him much.  He’s Dalish...he seems to care an awful lot about his looks.  He eats a lot.  He also falls ill rather often.  Kierin, his Clan-mate, constantly worries over him.” She frowned. “Why?”

He shrugged and looked away.

“Oh, no reason.  I was merely interested.  He and Kierin...are they romantically involved?”

“Not as far as I know...Zevran.  Do you fancy Theron?”

He scoffed and moved his hand in a sweeping gesture as if shoving the notion away from himself.

“I fancy him in the sense where I would enjoy sleeping with him,” he replied. “Any more than that, no.”

“He is very good-looking,” she agreed.

Leliana wanted to say more but saw someone moving through the marketplace.  It was nothing.  A flash of dark hair and the deliberate movement of hips before the figure disappeared into the crowd.  She bit her lip.

“Let’s head back,” she said quickly. “I don’t think we’ll find anything here.”

Zevran looked confused but before he could question her, Leliana seized his arm and hauled him away from the marketplace.

\--

“So you have a brother.”

Cassan chose to ignore Devyn.  In response, he put his hands behind his back and flashed a sly grin.

“He’s cute.”

She glared at him and his grin widened.

“Do you get pleasure out of making fun of me?” she asked exasperatedly.

“Yes.”

On some level, she figured that she maybe deserved that.

“We aren’t close,” she said rather than admit that to him. “Castor and myself.  We never have been.”

“It’s because she’s jealous that I’m a better mage.”

Cassan’s spine fused and she turned round to see that, somehow, her brother had caught up to them.  They had left him in the apprentice quarters for his own safety as he wasn’t a Grey Warden or Wynne.

“How did you find us?” she demanded.

Castor shrugged and replied, “That human with you tromps around like a horse.  I just followed his footsteps.”

She cast a glare at the back of Alistair’s head.  Part of her was actually worried for her brother’s well-being but another part of her was annoyed.  She and Castor managed to turn nearly everything into a competition.  He was also generally more liked than she was since where she was, admittedly, a bit petulant and rude to everyone, he was sweet.  The Wardens were her friends--of a sort.  She didn’t want her brother horning in on that.

“It is dangerous,” Wynne said from the head of the group.

“Yes,” Maeve agreed. “You should head back, Castor.”

A little ways ahead of her, she heard Kierin mutter under his breath, “Great, there’s two of them.”

Castor shuffled forward in his robes.  He pushed past Cassan in a way that she wasn’t going to put down as accidental.

“I’m not afraid of abominations,” he said. “Besides, you’ll need a good spirit mage.”

“They have one,” Cassan snapped.

“I said a _good_ one.” He grinned broadly and she was very close to throttling him right then and there. “Now...um...if someone could help guide me?”

Kierin of all people offered his arm and Castor reached out to grasp the crook of his elbow.  Cassan realized then how he actually found them.  Castor could see, in a sort.  If he expended his magic outwards, he could see a sort of echolocation not unlike a bat.  She did know that it tired him greatly and that using it to find them (while he probably did follow Alistair’s stomping footsteps) probably drained his magic near to nothing.  She walked forward and took his free hand.  With her other hand, she reached into the pouch she wore at her waist and extracted the vial.

“Here,” she said, gently placing it in his hand. “Lyrium.”

“Thanks.”

She fell back in step with Devyn who still wore that sly grin.

“What?” she demanded.

“I’m not saying anything.”

\--

Alistair carefully wiped the blood off of his blade and stared down at the Templar’s body at his feet.  It didn’t escape his perception that this could have easily been him.  If Duncan hadn’t rescued him from the Chantry like a knight in bearded armor, there was a chance he could have gotten sent to the Tower as a Templar.  There was a chance that he could be one of these people possessed.  It wasn’t a very comforting thought.

“It’s getting worse as we go up,” Maeve observed.

“What makes you say that?” Kierin asked dryly.  He kicked at the purple tumors of corruption that stuck to the walls and columns of the Tower.  His boot slid in with a squelching sound and made a popping noise as he pulled it out.

“Loot’s getting better, though.”

Theron had the vanity open and was sifting through it.  He had apparently been scavenging as the rest of them fought the possessed Templars since he already wore a good amount of the jewelry that had been secreted in the drawers.

“Who knew Templars had taste?” he asked, holding out his hand to admire the rings he had put on it.

Maeve sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

“Theron, put them back.”

“No.”

He turned back and began looping necklaces around his neck.

“I’m selling these.”

“Fine.  Then at least take them off--for now?” Maeve was using her patiently impatient voice, which Alistair realized was her one tool to corral all of them efficiently.

Theron rolled his eyes but took the jewelry off.  He stuffed it in Kierin’s pack.

“Here.  Hold these, lethallin.”

Kierin rolled his eyes but took the jewelry anyway.  Wynne, meanwhile, was regarding all of them as most did: as though it were impossible to think that any of them could end the Blight.

“To think it could have almost been me,” Castor said in his happy, sunshine voice.  Even when he argued with his sister, he seemed to have a constantly jolly tone to his voice.

“No it wouldn’t,” Cassan spat at him. “If Jowan hadn’t asked me, he would have asked Amell.”

Alistair--and the others--chose to stay out of it.  They had only been traveling for a little over an hour with both Surana twins but it was enough to know not to get involved in their sibling rivalry.  Especially since this most recent spat concerned two people no one else knew.

“No, he could have asked me.  He never would have asked Tobias.  Tobias was his best friend.  If Jowan’s plan worked and he escaped, who would they immediately suspect in helping him?”

Cassan scowled and said, “Amell...”

“Exactly.  So who wouldn’t they suspect?  The girl who hates everyone--especially Jowan.  And I’d be a good next choice since me and Jowan weren’t close and who would suspect the blind kid?”

At that, Cassan opened her hand out in agreement though she still wore a scowl.

“Fine.”

“I’ve had time to think about it,” he explained. “You’ve obviously had other things on your mind.”

She shrugged and walked past him.  Castor just shook his head and took hold of Kierin’s arm once more.  Without any more conversation, they moved forward as a group.  Alistair hung near the back where Devyn was.

“I think I’m pretty glad right now that I never knew my family,” he whispered.

Devyn laughed his raspy chuckle and said, “They remind me of me and my cousin, Shianni.  Only worse.”

Not sure what else to do, Alistair just nodded.  Devyn smiled at him and held his hand out.  It was probably inappropriate, given the circumstances, but he reached out and linked hands with him anyway.  It felt good, the sensation of Devyn’s palm hugging his.  It almost made him forget that they were to do battle with a blood mage abomination in a corrupted, half-destroyed tower.  Almost.

They continued down the hallway until Theron stopped at a door.  He held his hand up to get the rest of them to come to a halt and pressed his ear against the wood.

“I hear voices,” he reported.

Cassan scowled and said, “I don’t hear anything.”

To that, Kierin snorted derisively.

“You wouldn’t.  Theron’s a Dalish hunter.  He’s been trained to hear things others can’t.”

Theron hissed at them in a way Alistair took to mean that he wanted them all to be quiet.  He wondered if it was that Niall person the Tranquil had told them about.

“It doesn’t sound human,” Theron said finally. “Might be a demon.”

“You can tell?” Wynne asked, visibly impressed. “Your hearing is that good?”

“No better or worse than any other Dalish hunter’s,” he replied.  Alistair was surprised at his modesty.  Maybe his vanity didn’t extend past his looks.

“How do you know what demons sound like?” Castor asked. “I thought only mages could.”

Theron merely shrugged.  Alistair thought that strange, too.  The closest he had heard a demon’s voice was that one, awful Harrowing he had to stand in on.  Theron’s hand reached out to clasp the door handle and he pushed it in to allow them all entrance into the next room.  A man’s body clad in mage’s robes was on the floor though Alistair couldn’t tell if he were dead or alive.  Over him stood what looked like an abomination but there was something...off about it.  The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.  Instinctively, his hand clasped Devyn’s more tightly.

The abomination turned to face them and, unlike all of the others they had run into, began to speak.

“There you are...ruining my fun.” Its voice sounded like a lullaby. “Why don’t you sit and stay awhile?”

“No thank you,” Maeve said and Alistair wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

“It wasn’t really a question.”

Alistair suddenly felt a weight on his eyelids and they began to droop.  The last thing he noticed before he lost consciousness was Devyn’s hand fall out of his.

\--

Maeve awoke with a start.  She found herself sitting on the ground back in the Alienage.  Her head pounded and felt foggy.  Something wasn’t right but she couldn’t figure out what it was.  She was awake now, yes, but the dream she had been in the folds of hadn’t left her.

“Hey, Maeve!”

She glanced to the side to see Devyn running towards her.  One skinny arm was lifted in a wild wave.

“There you are!” he said once he reached her. “I came to get you.  Papa almost has dinner ready.”

Maeve got to her feet and reached out to ruffle his hair.  Devyn squawked in objection and batted her hand away.

“What were you doing out here anyway?” he asked.

“Napping...I think.” Maeve frowned.  Something was niggling at the back of her head and she couldn’t figure out what it was.  Maybe it had to do with the dream she had been dragged out of.

“Outside?  Good way to get robbed, cousin.” He lifted his head up towards the sky and gave a helpless shrug. “And to think that you’re known as the responsible one.”

She shook her head and chuckled.

“Sleeping outside is a bit different than, you know, challenging humans twice your size to fights.”

“Who does that?” he asked, having the gall to look innocent.

Maeve laughed again and put her arm around him.  Still, there was something not quite right about everything.  Her laughter died and she frowned.  It was that dream she had awoken from.

“Devling...does the name Alistair mean anything to you?” she asked.

“No.  Should it?”

She exhaled.  It was definitely a dream, then, and one that her cousin hadn’t shared.

_Why would he?_ She thought to herself.   _We’ve never had linked dreams before._

They reached Uncle Cyrion’s house by then and, as usual, Devyn banged the door open.

“Found her!” he called into the house.

He bounded in and Maeve followed, still feeling off.  Immediately, her cousin ran to the stove where Uncle Cyrion was to finish helping him prepare dinner.

“There you are, Maeve.”

The voice sent shivers down her spine.  Maeve turned slowly to face Aunt Adaia.  She was smiling her usual smile--the same one Devyn had.

“Yes, uh, I fell asleep in town,” she said bashfully.

Aunt Adaia laughed, her laugh was like Devyn’s, too.  A raspy, phlegmy cackle that she would never forget.  Sometimes when her cousin laughed, her chest hurt, but she couldn’t figure out why.  Especially not while Aunt Adaia was standing right in front of her.

“Well you’re home now, aren’t you?” she asked.

Maeve nodded slowly and looked around the small, cozy house.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I’m home now.”

\--

Kierin stomped miserably through the forest.  Leave it to his bran-farting Clan mates to strand him in the middle of a hunt.  He wasn’t a hunter--he was a warrior.  He was trained in defense, not tracking.  It would take him hours to find his way back to camp.  He was going to _kill_ Theron.

Somehow, he managed to find the clearing where they were currently settled, undoubtedly thanks to some blessing from Mythal.  He spotted Theron immediately.  He was sitting cross-legged as Merrill braided flowers into his hair.  Tamlen was in front of him and every now and then he would lean forward to kiss him.

Kierin scowled.  Tamlen was shorter than he and Theron but just as broad and muscular as he was if not bigger.  It always made him anxious standing next to him because Tamlen was just as good as he was.

“There you are, lethallin,” he snapped. “You left me in the forest you selfish ass!”

Theron didn’t turn.  He didn’t even acknowledge that he was there.

“Theron?”

He laughed and leaned his body forward to nuzzle Tamlen’s shoulder.  Merrill made a little giggle behind him and tugged his hair.

“Come on.  I’m not done yet.”

“Theron?” he repeated.  He turned. “Merrill?  Tamlen?”

He waved his hand in front of Theron’s face but again got no response.

“Theron!”

Kierin took a step back and wondered what was wrong.  Not one of them even looked his way.  If they were ignoring him, they were doing a fantastic job at it.  It was like he wasn’t there.  He turned and went to find others.  Surely someone in the Clan had to see him.

He sought out Ashalle and found her in front of the aravel the three of them shared.

“Something strange is happening,” he said without even bothering with a greeting. “Theron and the others...they don’t see me.”

She looked at him and, at first, he felt his chest unclench with relief.  It faded fast, though, when he saw the mournful look on her face.

“Ashalle?”

“Ma abelas, little nose,” she said.  The term of endearment she used for him was different from Theron’s in that it wasn’t in elvish.  He didn’t realize until now how much that meant. “But we can’t acknowledge you anymore.  You knew that when you lied to us.”

“I never lied to anyone!” he shouted.

A slow nod.

“Yes you did.  When you came to us, you lied.  And you’ve been lying ever since.”

“I haven’t!”

“You are not of Clan, Kierin.  You never were.”

“Yes I am!  I am!”

Ashalle shook her head and turned away from him.  Kierin reached out to her but knew it would be in vain.  Instead he collapsed on the ground in front of her and began to cry.

\--

“A forest?”

Theron frowned and put his hands on his hips.  He knew something was wrong but he couldn’t figure out what.  Before he could dither on it further, a pair of big, burly arms slipped around his waist.

“Emma lath...” Tamlen’s voice dripped like honey into his ears. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Theron leaned into the embrace instinctively.  It had been so long since someone had touched him like this.  So long since _Tamlen_ touched him like this.

“I’ve been looking for you, too,” he mumbled back, voice low.

“And I’ve found you.”

“Yes.  You found me.” Theron smiled and tilted his head to get a better look at his lover. “And what are you going to do now that you’ve found me?”

Tamlen responded by biting down on Theron’s neck.  He sucked in a deep breath and pressed his back flat against Tamlen’s chest.  Yes, he had most certainly missed this.

“We don’t have time for much else, emma lath,” he said, speaking in a low voice, his words muffled by the flesh of Theron’s neck. “They’re waiting for you.”

“Who is?”

Tamlen maneuvered him around so he was facing the other way and that was when he saw them.  In front of him were dozens of humans, all bearing trays heaped with various foods or casks of wine.

“They’re waiting to serve you.”

Theron felt a wide smile stretch his face.

“Oh, they are, are they?”

\--

Alistair’s footsteps echoed through the empty halls of the Keep.  He stopped at a wall-mounted looking glass and smiled.  He liked his Warden armor now that he was no longer seen as a rookie.  More importantly, he looked like he belonged.  Finally, for once in his life, he belonged somewhere.  He was like everyone else.  No whispers in the stables while he baled hay and mucked stalls about how he was the King’s bastard.  No raps with the willow wand for mouthing off too much--being too different.

He stopped admiring the armor and continued towards his destination.  He wasn’t sure where he was heading but his feet seemed to know.  The clanking of the armor matched the brisk clip of the hard soles of his boots.  He finally stopped at a large mahogany door and rapped his knuckles lightly on the wood.

“Come in.”

The voice on the other side awakened a surprising longing inside him.  Alistair pushed the door open to see Duncan sitting at the grand desk in the center of his office.  His hands shook on the wood and he swallowed thickly.

“Duncan.  Hello.”

Duncan looked up from the documents and smiled.

“Hello, Alistair.  What can I help you with?”

His mind stalled.  He actually had no idea why he was here.  Not just in Duncan’s office but in the Keep.  His armor suddenly felt heavier than it had been, pushing him down.  He swallowed thickly.

“I...just...wanted to say hi.”

“You can come in.” His smile quirked up a little higher.

“Right!  Yes.  I’ll...do that.”

Alistair shuffled into the office and awkwardly shut the door behind him.

“I know you’re still relatively new...are you settling in alright?”

He nodded, perhaps a bit too eagerly.  At that, Duncan smiled once more.

“I’m glad for that.  I know the other Wardens can get restless in times of peace and often take out their frustrations on newer recruits.”

“Peace?” Alistair frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “What about the Blight?”

Duncan looked surprised. “The Blight?  Alistair, there hasn’t been a Blight in centuries.  Vigilance is one thing but paranoia is another.  You needn’t worry yourself with notions of the Blight.”

He put his hand to his temple where the tips of his gauntlet lightly scratched the skin.

“Right.  Um...I guess that’ll be all.  Sorry for disturbing you.”

“It is no trouble at all, Alistair.”

Something about Duncan didn’t sound right but he couldn’t place it.  Even so, he nodded once more and then left the office.

\--

The streets of Denerim were deserted.  That was his first indication that things were strange.  Devyn looked around the marketplace and frowned.  Denerim, to his knowledge, was never empty.  Everything also looked grayed and subdued as if he were walking through a memory.  He reached up and rubbed one of his scars out of habit only to wince in pain.  They felt fresh and raw as if he had just received them.  Devyn looked down at the puddle beneath his bare feet and his breath caught in his throat.

The scars on his face stood out red and shiny--brand new.  More surprising was that the face he was staring at in the puddle was that of himself at seven years old.  His eyes were even larger in his head and his ears stuck out funnily and large.  His hair was even more of a messy, tangled thatch.  His cheeks were round and his body, he knew, was somehow even scrawnier than usual.

He realized what this was in an instant.  He felt like it was walking in a memory because this was a memory.  His memory.  One of the worst days of his life.  Pushed forward by the momentum of his realization, he heard the human’s laughter and the rough feel of their hands on his arms.  They were ghosts now--fragmented images in his mind’s eye of faces he no longer recalled.  He remembered their laughter, though, and their words.

“Where’s that lip now, knife-ear?  Huh?  Where’s your tough talk now?”

A whimper escaped lips that were suddenly bruised.  The fist that had looped down and hit his mouth.  Next came the lurching feeling of dread as he was dragged into the warehouse.  He heard his own voice echoing in his head as he screamed at them.  First he kept up his anger, his white hot anger, but then it turned to pleas.  He was only seven.

“He’s cryin’!”

“Pfft, boo-hoo, knife-ear.  You gotta learn to respect your betters.”

He squeezed his eyes shut but he knew it wouldn’t stop it.  He was stuck here, reliving this moment.  The boys threw him in the crate and he heard the top being hammered into place.  He turned his head and watched them leave the warehouse through the slats in the wood.  There was air but it was stale and dry.  The sides pressed against him, trapping him.  Devyn closed his eyes again shut tight, ignoring the stinging from his scars as he did it.  He wished he could cover his ears to drown out his own ragged breathing but he couldn’t.  They were pinned to his sides against the splintering wood.  This wasn’t a memory, he realized.  He was truly reliving this and this time he was certain he would die.

\--

Cassan struggled against the chains.  To her right was the First Enchanter.  His head was bowed and he shook it slowly, solemnly.  To her right was Knight Commander Gregoir.  He held the brand.  The tip glowed an ominous orange as he moved it near her.

“Harrowed mages can’t be made Tranquil!” she screamed.  Her throat was raw from trying to make her case.

Gregoir shook his head and scowled at her.

“Rules can be bent when bratty little girls help blood mages escape.”

She bucked against the chains again but she knew it was of no use.  This was the price she had to pay for letting Jowan escape.  She closed her eyes and waited for the hot press of the brand.  She imagined that it would be burning fire and then nothingness.  Everything she knew and had known would be gone.  She would be Tranquil.

“Would you like to do the honors?”

Cassan opened her eyes and saw Gregoir handing the brand off to someone standing in the shadows.

“I hope I don’t miss.”

Her spine fused.  She knew that voice.  Castor stepped out from the shadows and smiled smugly.

“I told you I was the better mage,” he said. “And now I get to be the only one.”

\--

Maeve spooned stew into her bowl and passed the ladle to Nelaros.  He smiled and rubbed his calloused hand over her knuckles.  She didn’t love him but in their years of marriage, she had learned to care for him and appreciate him.  Nelaros was a good man.

“Barf,” Devyn said at their display of affection.  When she glared at him, he responded by shoving a spoonful of stew in his mouth.

“Soon you’re going to be married, cousin,” she reminded him.

“Nope,” he replied. “I’m never getting married.”

“Devling, don’t talk with your mouth full,” Aunt Adaia said and winked at him.

He swallowed and said, “Yes, mama.”

Maeve smiled.  She was happy.  Her family was together and happy.  Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.  An image flashed in her head just moments before she awoke.  She was in a tower...no, the Tower of Magi.  Devyn was there and so was...the images of her fellow Wardens popped into her head.  Fellow Wardens...she was a Grey Warden.  She was a Grey Warden and this wasn’t real.  This was the Fade.

“I...I have to go.” She stood up from the table.

“Dear?” Nelaros asked.

“Maeve?”

Aunt Adaia stood at well.  She cupped her cheek with one hand.

“What’s wrong?”

Maeve shook her head and stepped away.

“It’s wrong.  It’s all wrong.  This is...not real.”

She closed her eyes and when she opened them, the house was gone.  Her family was gone.  A podium stood there and a strange aura surrounded it.  Maeve put her hand on it and felt the air crackle around her.  In a flash, she was gone and now in a forest.  Beside her was a long train of people carrying trays full of food.  Coming in the opposite direction were more people with empty trays..  She figured out now that the others had to be in similar situations as her--trapped somewhere in the Fade.

She took in the woodsy surroundings and the long line of humans that appeared to be servants.  It didn’t take her long to deduce whose dream this was.  She followed the people with full trays to a forest clearing where a throne was set up.  At first glance, Maeve thought that the heavyset blond elf leaning over the back was Kierin but a closer look saw different facial tattoos and hair.  Their only similarity, actually, was that they were both burly and blond.  She figured that this had to be the elusive Tamlen.

Theron was seated sideways in the throne.  His head was thrown back as the people lined up to alternate between feeding him and pouring wine into his mouth.  One hand was behind his head while the other stroked his stomach lovingly.  Maeve sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, which was her usual response to Theron.

“Theron!”

He glanced up and scowled at her.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat up.

“Great.  Fun’s over.” He turned his head and, to her surprise, she saw genuine sadness on his face. “Good-bye, emma lath.”

Tamlen--or the Fade demon masquerading as Tamlen if she were being specific--nodded and leaned down to kiss him.  When their lips parted, both he and all of the serving humans disappeared.  Theron sighed and kicked at the ground.

“You knew this was the Fade?” she asked, surprised. “The whole time?”

“The Beyond,” he corrected and then shrugged. “I did.  Sometimes I wake up here...and, besides, Tamlen and a bunch of shemlen that wait on my every whim?  Far too good to be true.”

Maeve balked at him for a moment.  Theron flipped his hair over his shoulder and pouted.

“So...you knew you were in the Fade but didn’t try to break out?”

Another shrug.

“I figured one of you would so I may as well enjoy myself before we got back to work.”

“You are...” Maeve sighed and shook her head.  It wasn’t even worth it. “Fine.  Let’s just go find the others.”

Theron did that graceful gesture of his that meant that he was in agreement and walked towards the podium Maeve had used to travel.  When he did, their surroundings didn’t change that much.  They were still in a forest clearing but now surrounding them were the aravels and Halla pens that signaled that this was a Dalish settlement.  Since Theron was already with her, Maeve figured that this was Kierin’s dream.  She didn’t see him anywhere, though.

“Kee!”

Theron certainly did.  He raced to a hunched, huddled form on the ground.  He threw himself down and wrapped his arms around Kierin’s shoulders.

“Kee...Kee, look up.  It’s me.”

Kierin shuddered with sobs but lifted his head a little.  His eyes stared right through him.

“I am not of Clan,” he said quietly, his voice sounding wet and clogged.

“Of course you are,” Theron said with a roll of his eyes. “Moreover, you’re my brother and I love you.”

He gently kissed Kierin’s forehead and then pressed his against it.  Maeve forgot about his previous selfishness as she watched them.  When it came to it, Theron was there for them--especially Kierin.  Kierin’s face cleared finally and his breathing regulated.

“Theron?” he asked finally, now seeing him.

“I’m here, Kee.”

He sniffled and wiped his nose with his wrist.

“You aren’t going to tell the others I was crying, are you?”

“Of course not.”

\--

They found Castor next.  He sat in the barren, bizarre setting of the Fade by himself.

“Oh!” he said when they arrived. “Hi!”

“This was your dream?” Theron looked around, the corner of his upper lip lifted in scorn.

Castor shook his head.

“No.  It’s pretty impossible to trick me in the Fade.  Because in the Fade, I can see.” He smiled widely.

Maeve looked at him and saw that his eyes were a dark shade of brown as opposed to how they looked normally.

“I guess that’s one way around it,” Kierin said.

“That didn’t appear, though, until you lot came through,” he continued, pointing to the podium. “So I was still stuck here.”

He flicked his gaze between them and it settled somewhere between Kierin and Theron.

“Wow!” he exclaimed. “You’re both really good-looking!  I didn’t know Wardens were good-looking!”

Kierin’s cheeks went red and he looked uncharacteristically bashful.  Maeve figured that since he and Theron were inseparable and Theron looked like a lovingly rendered statue that he was used to being overlooked in favor of him.  Theron, of course, preened at the attention.  He put his hands on his hips and tossed his hair back with a shake of his head.

“Let’s just go,” Maeve said.  She put her hands on the shoulders of the two Dalish elves and steered them towards the podium. “We have four more people to save.”

The portal this time spat them out in what looked like a castle.  Banners hung from the walls depicting the reared up profiles of proud griffons.

“A Warden Keep,” Kierin said. “This must be Alistair’s dream.”

“It was.”

Maeve turned at the sound of the voice and saw Alistair sitting miserably on the floor of the Keep.

“Alistair?”

He shrugged and rested his chin on his folded arms.

“I wanted it to be real...I wanted him to be real.  And it wasn’t.”

She figured that he had to mean Duncan.  Alistair got to his feet and trudged over to them.

“Forget it,” he said, voice still at that melancholy pitch. “Let’s just leave.  Not like I could have stayed anyway...”

Maeve nodded.  Alistair obviously didn’t want to talk about it with any of them.  She simply brought him with her through the portal.  They ended up in Denerim and Maeve felt a sickening sense of having been here before.  Not just the marketplace--a place she had been an innumerable amount of times--but this exact spot on this exact day.

“This is Devyn’s dream,” she said assuredly.

“Well by process of elimination...” Theron said.

She ignored him.  There was something else about the strangeness and stillness of the empty marketplace.  Maeve drew in a breath.  Maybe it was the Fade showing her but she was taken back to a day in her early teens.  Shianni had come to her crying and saying that she and Soris had been looking for Devyn for hours and couldn’t find him.

“The warehouse!” she shouted. “We have to go to the warehouse.  The one past the Wonders of Thedas.”

Alistair took off at a run, obviously spurred on by the urgency in her voice.  Maeve followed him, trying to keep her strides long to keep up.  By the time she actually caught up with him, Alistair was in the warehouse and had the lid off of the crate.

“Devyn!”

“Get away from me!” The voice cracked from overuse.  Maeve remembered that awful day and how long her cousin had screamed for help before finally giving up.  And how that was still hours before anyone found him.

“Devyn, it’s me.  Alistair.”

Maeve walked up next to him and noted, with some measure of respect, that Alistair wasn’t trying to move or touch him without his permission.  Devyn--or the seven-year-old version of him--was curled up in the crate.  Just as he had been a decade earlier when she’d found him, half-starved and left with scars deeper than the ones on his face.  They never found the boys that locked him in the crate and Devyn just told her to drop it with all the ferocity a small child could possess.  After that, she knew, even the thought of enclosed spaces made him seize up with fear.

“Cousin...cousin, wake up.  This is just a memory.  This is the Fade.”

He looked at her with blank eyes, his pupils blown so wide she could only make out the faintest ring of violet around them.  Slowly, they retracted in size and he sat up.  When he did, he was back in his armor and back at seventeen.

“Maeve...Alistair?”

He turned to him and wrapped his arms around his middle.  Alistair held him back and they stayed like that for a long moment.  Maeve decided that maybe she would trust Alistair a little more with her cousin.  A little.

\--

Cassan knew they were torturing her.  The waiting was the worst.  When the Rite was over, she would feel nothing, but the anxiousness before was unbearable.  She twisted her hands in the chains but only felt the metal pinch her skin.  She bit her lip to fight against crying out.  Any sign of weakness would be worse in the end.  Her brother was over the pit, reheating the brand and it glowed bright white.  That was too hot, she thought.  It would kill her.  Not that it mattered.  Being Tranquil was a fate worse than death.

“Whoa!” she heard Castor’s voice call though the one at the pit didn’t move his mouth. “That’s me!”

Cassan twisted her head and, to her surprise, saw her brother standing amongst a group of elves she didn’t recognize.  The only woman among them walked over to her and knelt down by the chair on which she was seated.

“Cassan?  You’re going to have to wake up.  This is the Fade...”

Cassan looked at her--the Fade?  Anger surged in her chest.  This was the Fade.  This was the Fade and these elves were her fellow Wardens.  Irving, the fake Castor, and Gregoir all disappeared, as did the chains binding her hands.

“About time you all got here,” she said, angry. “I was--”

“Scared?” Theron interjected.

“N-no.”

“It’s alright,” Devyn said. “I was scared in mine, too.”

She scowled at him and he stuck his tongue out back at her.  Cassan rolled her eyes.  Maybe she was better off not knowing who they all were.

“Now we just have to get Wynne,” Maeve said.

“And fight the demon who put us here,” Kierin added gruffly.  He cracked his knuckles and said, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Cassan wondered what the demon showed him.  She figured, like hers, it wasn’t anything good or else he wouldn’t be so angry.  She could relate.

\--

Wynne knelt over the dead apprentices.  Lost to her because she couldn’t speak up and save them.  Lost like her child, taken from her arms before she could even recover from having him.  She wasn’t fit to be a mentor just as she wasn’t fit to be a mother.

“Wynne?”

She turned and saw an elven girl standing behind her.  She had a cutlass sashed at her waist and her mage’s robes were dirty and ragged.  Stray strands of black hair flew out of a haphazard horsetail.  Something about her was oddly familiar but Wynne wasn’t sure what.

“Who are you, child?  Have you come to mourn your fellow mages?”

“Mourn?  They’re not dead, Wynne.  We can save them.”

Wynne shook her head at the child’s naivete and gestured to the dead apprentices.

“Look at this carnage and tell me the Circle can be saved.”

The girl rolled her eyes upwards and sighed exasperatedly.

“Why did I have to do this?” she muttered. “I’m not exactly diplomatic.  Have prettyboy wiggle his hips and pout at her to drag her out of this.”

Wynne frowned and a memory seeped into her mind.  Ostagar and the mages’ encampment.  A Grey Warden recruit had come over to them and her posture had been warding and one of uncaring but Wynne had seen the enjoyment and excitement reflected in her blue gaze.

“You’re a Grey Warden,” she said.

The girl nodded slowly. “Very good.  And this is the Fade.  This isn’t real.”

Wynne frowned and, around her, the apprentices disappeared.  She stood and dusted invisible Fade dust from her robes.

“You will have to learn how to speak to your elders, young lady.  Now, come on.  There is a demon I would like to have a word with.”

Wynne walked past the mage girl whose expression softened and, without another word, fell in line behind her.

“Yes, Wynne.”

She smiled a little to herself.  Maybe this girl could learn.

\--

Fighting one sloth demon shouldn’t have been hard, Maeve thought.  She hadn’t taken into account the fact that it could shapeshift.  Whether it actually could or if it was just manipulating their perception in the Fade was a moot point.  The only point was that everything from a large ogre to a magma rage demon had been bearing down on them.

“Just die already!” Theron snapped.

The demon turned and shifted once more into the macabre form that had greeted them in its lair.

“Face me as I truly am.”

“Shut.  Up!” Theron lunged at it with his knives out.

Maeve wiped sweat from her brow with her sword arm and watched him.  He moved with an almost obscene amount of grace as he swung at the demon.  The blades connected and sparks flew out of the demon’s body.  Maeve was momentarily blinded and, when the light disappeared, she still had to blink purple spots from her eyes.  When her sight returned, she saw that they had awoken in the Tower.

“What did you do?” Kierin demanded the moment he sat up.

“Well, I hate to state the obvious, but I think he killed it,” Alistair quipped.

Theron sat up and pulled his hair over his shoulder to braid it casually.

“Well, it is the Beyond, right?  What’d Paivel say about that?”

“Somniari can shape it,” Kierin replied. “But you are not somniari so what did you do?”

He shrugged again.

“I have no idea.  I just wanted that thing dead.  I figure we did enough damage that I just landed the final blow.” He turned his hand down. “That’s all.”

“What about that other mage...Niall?” Devyn asked.

Alistair winced as he got up and stared down at the person he had been lying on top of.

“Uh...I think this is his body.” He reached down and carefully removed the scroll of paper sticking out of the pocket. “And this is that...thing right?”

“The Litany,” Wynne clarified. “Yes.  What will stop Uldred should he try to use blood magic.”

Castor shrank away from the scroll and ducked behind Kierin.

“Oh...” he mumbled weakly.

Cassan noticed his apprehension and turned to him.

“If you’re scared, you can stay here.”

Maeve thought she sounded almost compassionate for a moment there.  Castor shook his head.

“No, I’m going.”

He turned out his hand and, even in the dim light of the Tower, Maeve saw numerous thin scars on his palm.  She didn’t say a word but she now had a suspicion as to why he was wary of the Litany.

Cassan, meanwhile, had forgotten about her brother’s moment of hesitation and was searching the pockets of her robe.

“Oh good!” she exclaimed. “It’s still here.”

What “it” was, she did not say and Maeve was too preoccupied to question her further.

“We have to move.  Now.”

\--

Devyn shook with anger as he gripped the handle of his axe.  He hadn’t paid attention to Uldred’s little soliloquy and now was just concentrating on killing him.  Wynne stood off to the side, tasked with reciting the Litany should he try to turn any of the still-captive mages into abominations.

He couldn’t stop shaking.  Uldred was the one behind everything.  It was due to his machinations that that demon ended up in the Tower and that it trapped them all in the Fade.  It was his fault that he had been trapped in one of his worst memories.  His anger flared hotly and he bared his teeth.

Uldred--or the pride demon he had become--slammed a fist down where Theron was but he simply flipped back on his hands to get away.  Devyn saw that Uldred was still hunched from where he had landed and saw it as his chance.  He flexed his hands around the handle of his axe and ran.

The bottoms of his boots hit the base of Uldred’s tail and he ran up the slope of his spiky back.  He lifted his axe high above his head and brought it down right at the base of his thick, veiny neck.  He kept pushing down until the blade sliced through and the demon’s head fell to the floor.  The body pitched forward and Devyn swung with it.  He closed his eyes and braced himself for impact but a pair of arms caught him.  He looked up, hoping to see Alistair grinning down at him but instead saw Kierin.

“You alright, pipsqueak?” he asked gruffly.

“Yeah.”

Kierin put him down and Devyn set his axe behind his back.  This time when arms came around him, they belonged to the right person.  He turned and tilted his face up to kiss Alistair.

“You,” he said once they parted, “need to stop flipping giant enemies over your head or running up them like a flight of stairs.”

“Never,” he said back, grinning.

Cassan came up between them and forcibly shoved them apart.

“Both of you stop being gross.  We have to get the First Enchanter downstairs, get their promise that they’ll help us, and get out of this hole.”

\--

They arrived at camp as the sun was coming up two days later.

“I kind of wish your brother could have come,” Theron lamented. “He was cute.”

Cassan hunched her shoulders and glared at him.

“Shut up, Theron.”

“I mean, we got Wynne, at least, but she isn’t nearly as cute.”

“Shut up, Theron.”

She clenched her hands, ready to fire a spirit bolt at his perfect face.  Kierin caught the motion and solemnly shook his head.  Cassan sighed and relaxed her grip.  Kierin would literally tear her apart if she hurt one hair on Theron’s head.

She was relieved to see that their camp was still intact though she saw no reason why it wouldn’t be.

“I’m going to the lake,” Theron announced though it was probably only for Kierin’s overprotective benefit. “I’m ripe.”

Cassan followed him simply because the path to the lake took him by Morrigan’s tent and that was her destination.  She carefully took the grimoire from the interior pocket of her robes and strode purposefully to the tent.  When she got there, it was just in time for Morrigan to come stumbling out of the tent, dragging someone with her.  Cassan’s grip tightened around the edges of the book when she saw that human lord, Ian Cousland, walking behind her.  He was lacing up his pants and wore no shirt.  Morrigan looked disheveled herself.

“I...brought you this,” Cassan managed to choke out.  She held the book to Morrigan who took it eagerly. “I...I’m going.  Now.  Um.  Yes.”

Without waiting for another word, she took off in the opposite direction.  Behind her she could hear Theron’s laughter.

“Shut up, Theron!”


	10. Chapter 10

Maeve rubbed her forehead and sighed.  She hated to give up this spot for camp but their next two destinations were on the far side of Ferelden.  Setting up camp closer to the Frostback Mountains or to Redcliffe made more sense.  Still, this place was opportune.  It was close enough to Denerim without being too close to get Loghain’s attention.  The trees offered shelter and the lake that backed them was too convenient.

“Is it too far a walk from Redcliffe to here?” she asked no one in particular.

Wynne was seemingly the only one who heard her and shrugged.

“Maybe we should invest in some horses...”

Maeve didn’t know how to ride and had a feeling that none of her fellow Wardens did either.  Alistair might but Cassan lived her entire life in the Circle and she had never heard anything about the Dalish riding horses.  Devyn, of course, she knew was just as skilled at horseback riding as she was.  Maybe she could send a scouting party to find a spot in between that was just as nice as this one.  While they were gone, she could figure out what they would do next.  Theron was the best tracker they had so she knew she would send him.  Maeve was dithering about who else to send when she heard a sniffle behind her.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Theron was behind her.  He didn’t look well.  His skin was a sickly pallor as opposed to its usual dark olive tone and his hair hung in his face.  He had a blanket wrapped around his body and kept shivering.

“Are you alright?” she asked though she knew that he clearly wasn’t.

“I’m fine,” he assured her.  He paused for a moment and added, “Why are you moving?”

“I’m not.”

“...Oh.”

Maeve frowned and went to him, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead.  As she suspected, he was burning up.  There was no way she was sending him along with a scouting party.  Knowing Theron and his stubbornness, she was glad that she hadn’t broached the idea to him before seeing how ill he was.  Had he known, he would have insisted on going or, worse, snuck out and followed them.

“Go lie down,” she instructed.

“What?  No.  I’m fine.”

He swayed where he stood and Maeve braced herself to catch him as he fell.  Unsurprisingly, before she could even move, Kierin popped up behind him and put both hands on his shoulders.

“Lethallin, lie down.  You’re sick.”

Theron rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest but instead doubled over and vomited on the ground.  Kierin took that as his cue to pick him up in a cradle and walk him over to his tent.  When he returned, Maeve had made up her mind.

“Kierin, you’re going to go on a scouting mission to find us a new campsite comparable to this.  Take Cassan and Ian with you.”

“No.  I’m not leaving Theron.”

She sighed.

“He’s sick, not dying.  There are plenty of people here who can watch over him while you’re gone.”

Kierin glanced back at Theron’s tent and she sighed once more.  She was going to have to approach this differently.

“If you stay here and dote on him, don’t you think that’s going to make Theron mad?”

He scowled.

“Don’t you?”

Kierin shrugged.

“Kierin?”

“Maybe...but no one knows what kind of tea he likes when he’s ill!”

Maeve shook her head and began pushing the much larger elf towards the campfire.

“I’m sure they’ll manage.  Go find Ian and Cassan and get a move on.”

\--

Morrigan frowned down at the pages of the grimoire.  This was most...unsettling.  If what she was reading was true, she had to act and she had to act fast.  Unfortunately, she had no one to whom she could trust such a task.  Perhaps it was her fault.  She had not gone out of her way to befriend or make pleasantries with her fellow travelers.

“Morrigan?”

She jerked her head up and slammed the grimoire shut instinctively.  Devyn stood a few feet from her area of camp, dressed in the same ill-fitting trousers and shirt he wore when he wasn’t in his armor and the worn clothes’ oversized appearance made him somehow look both smaller and younger.  Morrigan remembered briefly entertaining the notion of utilizing him for her plan due to his brute physical strength but he was only interested in men it seemed.  She figured it was for the best, considering who he was choosing to take up with.  He clearly had no taste at all.

“Yes?  What is it?”

Devyn scuffed his bare foot on the packed dirt in front of her tent and frowned.  Morrigan frowned back.  He obviously had to have a reason for coming to her.

“Do you want to...help me make soup for Theron?” He gestured to the main campfire. “He’s ill.”

Theron was another one she had considered due to his looks and limber body but his physical constitution would not work.

“And why would I wish to do that?”

Devyn shrugged.  His face was remote and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“What do you think about Cassan?” he blurted.

That surprised her.  Morrigan lifted her hand up and brushed her hair behind her ears.

“What do you mean?  I like her fine.  She is adept at magic despite being cloistered in the Circle and she retrieved my mother’s grimoire for me.”

“Yeah but...” Devyn puffed his cheeks full of air and then let out a breath. “Do you like her?”

“You are acting quite strangely.” Morrigan narrowed her eyes.

He sighed and waved his hands in the air dramatically.

“Never mind.  Enjoy your book.”

He left, heading back to the campfire to tend his soup or whatever he was doing.  Morrigan opened the grimoire and began contemplating the possibilities that Kierin offered.

\--

Devyn made his way over to the campfire, unable to shake the feeling of unease he had after his conversation with Morrigan.  Shaking his head, he bent down over the pot he had suspended over the flame and took the spoon from his pack to stir it.

“I am amazed, my friend.  You brought near a kitchen with you.”

He glanced up to see that Zevran had joined him.  He hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Just a few pots and pans,” he said defensively. “How’s our patient?”

Zevran gestured to the tent behind him and sighed.

“Not well...I thought...well, I had read stories, you know.  Back when I was a child before the Crows took me--I taught myself to read on the books in the brothel.”

Devyn snorted a laugh as he continued to stir the pot.

“And?”

“Well in these books whenever someone was ill and another person took care of them...certain things tended to happen.”

“You mean you were hoping that Theron would be charmed by you taking care of him and want to jump you?”

He laughed and said, “Essentially.”

Devyn lifted the spoon to his mouth and blew on the steaming broth before giving it an experimental taste.  He frowned.  It needed more salt.

“I take it that it’s not living up to your expectations?”

He reached behind himself and pinched some salt from the pouch he had procured from the Denerim marketplace.  He had asked Leliana to pick some up for him when she had gone there last.  He sprinkled it into the pot.

“It is more him talking in his sleep and throwing up.”

Zevran reached to his side and lifted up a pail.  Devyn wrinkled his nose at the smell emanating from it.

“Great.” He stirred the pot again and gave it another taste.  Better. “So you fancy Theron?”

Zevran shrugged and put the bucket back down.

“I desire Theron.  How could I not?”

Devyn nodded.

“Hmm.  I guess.  I mean, he’s really good-looking but I’m happy where I am.”

At that, the other elf’s eyebrows rose.

“Oh?”

Fortuitously, at that moment, Alistair came back from where he had been chopping firewood.  He held a hand axe Maeve had found over one shoulder and several split logs he carried under his other arm.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt and, in the ruddy firelight, Devyn could see the sweat glistening on his bare skin.  The shadows from the flame highlighted the bulge of his muscles under the slick skin.

“Yes...I can see where you would be perfectly content,” Zevran said.  He reached down to pick the bucket back up. “I have to go dump this.”

He crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out before wiggling his fingers in farewell and darting away.  Alistair quirked his eyebrow at his passing as he reached the fire but said nothing.  He  dropped the wood into a haphazard pile and put the axe next to it.  Devyn figured that the axe was supposed to be used in combat and not for utilitarian purposes but no one in their group was skilled in using it so Maeve had decreed it for use in chopping wood.

“What did he have to say?”

Devyn took another taste of soup and decided it was satisfactory.  He grabbed the handles of the pot and lifted it off of the fire.

“Oh, just about how he wants to jump Theron’s bones but that playing nursemaid isn’t as sexy as erotica would lead him to believe.”

Alistair gave him an incredulous look and came to sit next to him by the fire.

“Can I have some soup?” he asked and leaned in to nuzzle his shoulder.

Devyn wriggled a bit, laughing.

“After Theron gets some.”

At that, he pulled a face. “If I have to wait for Theron to eat, there’s not going to be any left!”

“He’s sick.  I don’t think his appetite is where it usually is.”

“That’s what he wants you to think.”

“Uh-huh.”

Alistair reached over and stuck his finger into the pot for a taste.  He let out a loud squawk of pain and pulled it out, blowing on the injured digit.

“...I just pulled it off an open flame.  Why did you think sticking your finger in there was a good idea?”

Alistair stuck his finger into his mouth and made a pathetic whimpering noise.

“Here.  Lemme kiss it better.”

Devyn took Alistair’s hand away from his face and kissed his finger.  He turned his hand over and gently nibbled on the heel of his palm.

“Oh.” Alistair let out a little breath.

“Hey...” Devyn lifted his head and smiled. “I never thanked you, did I?  For helping me get out of my Fade dream.”

He felt the tendons on the inside of Alistair’s wrists tense a little under his chin.

“Ah...it was no problem.  I’d do it again.  I mean I hope not to...but--”

Devyn cut him off by moving quickly and silencing him with a kiss.

“No, really.  Let me properly thank you.” He jerked his head towards his tent.

Alistair’s cheeks went bright red and he bit his lip.

“Oh, uh, what about Theron’s soup?”

“Zevran can get it.  Come on.”

He hauled him through the tent flaps and pressed him flat against the blankets he had lain out over the packed dirt.  Straddling Alistair’s middle, he pulled his shirt off and leaned down to kiss him.  After a moment’s trepidation, Alistair kissed him back, his hands moving to grasp at Devyn’s waist.

“You’re getting better,” he murmured against his mouth. “At this kissing thing.”

“I have a good teacher.”

He smiled a bit and went back to kissing him.  Kissing Alistair, he thought, was better than kissing anyone else he had ever kissed.  Maybe it was because of the swell of emotion he got whenever they kissed and the feeling of safety and protection he got while in his arms.  Devyn slipped his hands under his body to the laces of Alistair’s trousers.  He started tugging but felt the other man freeze beneath him.  He looked up, confused.

“What’s wrong?”

Alistair looked away and awkwardly cleared his throat. “I...uh...can we get up?”

He nodded and crawled off of him.  Alistair sat up and awkwardly ran his hands up and down his arms.

“You know I’ve...never done this before.”

“Right.” Devyn bit the side of his lip before he spoke again. “You do want to do it, right?”

He nodded quickly.

“Oh, I do.  Believe me, I do but...I’m just not ready for that.  Yet.  Um...if that’s alright.”

At that he had to laugh.  Gently, he reached forward to cup Alistair’s cheek in his hand.

“Of course it’s alright.  Whenever you’re ready, I’m ready.”

Alistair smiled and turned to nuzzle against Devyn’s palm.

“Good...so, uh, now can I have some soup?”

He rolled his eyes.

“Yes, you can have some soup.”

\--

Kierin scratched the back of his head.  Sweating in winter, he thought, was terrible.  He arched his back and cracked the joints in his spine that were cramped from supporting his sword in the days they had been walking towards Redcliffe.  Next to him, neither Ian nor Cassan looked as uncomfortable as he did.  Then again, Ian was wearing a fur-lined cloak over traveling leathers and Cassan had finally ditched her disgusting, torn robes for something similar to what the shemlen wore.  They weren’t speaking, though, and Kierin figured it had something to do with Morrigan.  Cassan’s crush on her was embarrassingly transparent to everyone but Morrigan and that Cousland had slept with her while they were at the Tower seemed to sour her towards him.  Then again, Cassan was sour towards most people but...he should talk.

He didn’t say anything about it because, quite honestly, he didn’t care.  What he did care about was being back at camp and taking care of Theron.  He looked terrible, worse than he had in a long time when his fevers would come.

“We should just keep our camp and head back,” he said gruffly.

Ian cocked a brow.

“Oh?”

“Yes.  This place isn’t good.  We can just travel.  It’ll be fine.”

“Right.  And it has nothing to do with you wanting to get back to camp and take care of...what is Theron to you anyway?”

He clenched his jaw.  So the shemlen was more perceptive than he thought.  Good for him.

“No.  I just think this is a waste of time.”

Cassan snorted through her nose and shared a look with Ian before remembering that she apparently hated him and looked away.

“Oh, come on,” he said, apparently catching her anger. “I hadn’t had sex in weeks!”

“Weeks?” Cassan deadpanned. “Wow.  How did you manage?”

He puffed his cheeks out and then sighed. “Alright.  That doesn’t sound like much but I’ve been regularly having sex since I was fourteen.  And anyway, Morrigan propositioned me and I wasn’t gonna say no.”

She growled under her breath and stared at her booted feet as they continued to walk.  Kierin said nothing, glad that the topic of discussion was off of him.

“If it’s gonna piss you off, then I won’t do it anymore.” Ian shrugged his massively broad shoulders.

Cassan looked up.

“What?”

“Yeah.  I mean if it upsets you this much, I won’t do it again.  S’not like we were having anything but casual sex.”

For a moment Cassan actually looked touched but she quickly covered it with her usual scowl.  Ian grinned at her cheekily.  His expression changed, then, to one of seriousness and he held his hand up.

“What?” Kierin asked crossly.  He had been under the impression that he was in charge of this little scouting mission to have Ian, who wasn’t even a Warden, step in was annoying.

“Something’s coming.  Hooves.  Not sure how many.”

He unslung his bow from his back and kept his hand there, ready to notch an arrow.  Cassan pulled her staff in front of her and held it like a weapon, purple energy sparkling at her fingers.  Kierin, still feeling cross, didn’t bother to unsheath his sword.

Out of the forest, a mule came thundering towards them, eyes wide and frightened.  Ian barked a laugh that sounded not unlike the bark of his dog and lowered his bow.  An elf came clamoring after the mule, waving his arms and spitting obscenities.  He was a handsome thing, Kierin thought, with bright red hair and smooth amber skin.  In fact, he looked a bit like a redheaded version of Theron.  The mule clattered to a stop before their group, breathing heavily through its nostrils.

“Oh, thank Andraste,” the elf cried, coming to a stop next to it.  He bent down, bracing his hand on the mule’s flank and panting. “I’ve been chasing this mule all through this blasted mountain pass.”

“He yours?” Ian asked.

The elf glanced up and, the moment his eyes landed on Ian, they lit up.  Ian, Kierin was beginning to realize, had that effect on people.  He wasn’t conventionally handsome with his upturned nose and broad mouth but he exuded this inescapable charm that made people swoon at his oversized feet.  Or maybe he was a little jealous because redheaded Theron was looking at him and not Kierin.

“N-no.  He’s my boss’s.” He pulled a face. “A merchant.  Told me this would make a great shortcut but all we’ve had is bad weather and worse luck.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tarren.” He grinned. “You?”

“Ian,” he said, grinning back. “This is Cassan and Kierin.”

Tarren gave them a half-hearted wave, his eyes fixated on Ian.

“Need some help walking back?” Ian asked, tipping his head to the side.

“If you don’t mind.”

Cassan pointed her finger down her throat and made a gagging noise as she rolled her eyes.  Ian shoved her playfully in return and, surprise of surprises, she let him.  They set off in a group back in the direction that Tarren had come, ostensibly towards his boss.  It wasn’t that far a walk taking it directly.  Tarren explained that the mule had taken the scenic route by zigzagging through the woods.  A squirrely-looking human waited near the entrance of the mountain pass next to an abandoned cart.  The second Tarren stepped out, he was on him.

“There you are you blasted elf.  What took you--” he stopped himself when he saw that the people accompanying him included two elves.  Two _armed_ elves. “Uh...good job.  Take a break.”

Tarren grinned. “Yes, serrah.”

He jerked his head towards a tent set up near the caravan and looked at Ian.

“Care to join me?”

“Sure.”

They absconded to the tent, leaving Kierin and Cassan to deal with the human and the mule while they waited for Ian to finish.

“So...you interested in a golem control rod?”

“Is that some kind of euphemism?” Cassan asked, wrinkling her nose.

He shook his head and extracted a rod from the pack next to him.

“Take it,” he said, thrusting it into Kierin’s hands. “Blasted thing’s brought me nothing but trouble.”

“Then why would we want it?”

He shrugged and said, “You lot look better equipped to deal with it.”

Kierin looked around and noticed that there was only the caravan, the tent where Tarrent slept--where slightly muffled noises of pleasure were coming from the thin, fabric walls--and nothing else.

“Where’s the golem?” Kierin asked.

“In a village near here.  Honnleath, I think it’s called.  I was headin’ there ‘til I heard it was overrun with Darkspawn.”

Kierin cringed when he heard that Darkspawn were there.  If Maeve found out that they skipped on saving a village from Darkspawn, she would never let them forget it.  Even if they didn’t tell her, he had a feeling she’d find out somehow.

“Well...having a personal golem might be nice,” he said, turning to Cassan. “Right?”

She seemed to have realized what he did because she nodded in agreement without a single complaint.

\--

Theron walked along the edge of the canyon, staring down at the teeming mass of bodies.  He could hear their voices scuttled across his brain but he couldn’t understand them.  Up ahead, he felt a presence.  His feet walked slowly but surely along the uneven ground, until he looked up at a bridge.  That dragon, the Archdemon Alistair had said, was perched on it, its claws gripping the stone sides and its wings flapping in the hot, still air.  He was drawn to it and its small black eyes scrutinized him as he approached.

Coming closer, he reached out his hand like he would to a Halla.  Maren taught them all to do it when they were fledgings and she wasn’t yet the animals’ minder.  The Archdemon whipped its head, moving it like a snake, but then stilled.  It moved closer to him and pressed its rocky, purple snout against his palm.  Its eyes locked with Theron’s and a voice whispered across his mind.

_Soon._

Theron closed his eyes and, when he opened them, he was alone in the woods.  He felt hot all over like his body was on fire.  His muscles felt like jelly and his head pounded.  Despite the heat of his body, he was freezing.  Some time in the last week, winter had come fully.  It was bitterly cold in the woods...through the fog of his mind, he wondered why he was in the woods.  He glanced down and saw that he was naked as well.  He stumbled back, trying to find his bearings.  He was away from camp and somewhere in the woods.

This was worrisome.  When he was very young, he used to wander away when he was ill.  It was so bad that Ashalle used to tie a bell around his wrist so they could locate him.  He hadn’t walked in a sick haze of sleep, though, since before he had even been given his vallaslin.

Theron saw a soft glow not far from where he was and figured that it had to be the campfire.  He staggered towards it, pushing branches away with his hands.  He could barely walk and each step made him worry that he was going to collapse on the ground.  The light ahead grew brighter and he could hear voices, muffled though they were.  His ears felt clogged with wool.

“...Gone?”

“Where...?”

He thought that maybe they were talking about him.  Theron made his way further until he broke through the treeline.  His bare feet crackled over dead leaves.  At the sound, he saw his companions turn their heads sharply towards him.  Maeve had a look of concern on her face that mirrored Wynne’s.  When they saw he was naked, though, they both averted their eyes.  Devyn looked at him baldly, blinking sleep from his eyes and Theron figured that his cousin had woke him up to get the search underway.  Behind him, Alistair looked similarly tired and he was rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.  Zevran saw him, and his eyes widened with worry.  He dimly registered that this was the second time he had seen him naked.  Everyone stared at him as if unsure what to say.

“Well,” he said, voice at a sick-roughened croak. “Is somebody going to get me a blanket or what?”

\--

Maeve left Theron in Wynne’s care and stepped back out to the fire.  This was troubling.  It was bad enough that he was ill but that he was also wandering off in the middle of the night was doubly dangerous.  She decided to keep that little bit of information from Kierin when he got back.  He would never be quiet if he found out that Theron had almost been lost in the woods without him there.  Around the campfire she saw the others save for Sten and Morrigan who always kept their distance.

“Is he alright?” Leliana asked, her eyes wide.

Maeve shrugged.

“We think so.  Wynne says that his fever isn’t any worse from being out in the woods but she’s sticking by him regardless.”

She nodded in understanding and cast a worried look towards Theron’s tent.  Maeve took the moment to survey the others.  Devyn had fallen back asleep, leaning against Alistair whose arm draped loosely around his slender shoulders.  Their body language gave the look of casual intimacy as if they had been together for years rather than just a little over two weeks.  That worried her but almost everything about their coupling worried her.  After what happened in the Fade, she trusted Alistair a bit more but she still wasn’t willing to fully give him the benefit of the doubt.  Her cousin’s taste in men, particularly humans, left much to be desired and if Alistair captured his attention, it couldn’t be for anything good.

Leliana noticed their position as well but her reaction seemed to be different than Maeve’s.  She giggled, holding the tips of her fingers against her mouth.

“You two are so cute.”

A blush rose to Alistair’s cheek and he used his free hand to brush some of Devyn’s hair from his face.  Devyn let out a little mewl and nuzzled against him.

“Well, uh, we try.”

“I’d hoped that you two might find each other,” she continued, voice cheerful. “I got that feeling when I first saw you in that tavern in Lothering.”

“Really?”

Devyn yawned and awoke, blinking his eyes sleepily.  Maeve knew that her cousin had always been a light sleeper.  She would always have to stay up with him through thunderstorms because the sound kept him from falling asleep and, thus, he kept her from falling asleep.

“What about us being cute?” he asked in a heavy voice and then, “Is Theron alright?”

“He will be,” Alistair assured him.  He kissed his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

Maeve frowned.  There was no reason for her to dislike what was in front of her and yet she did.

\--

“So this is a golem control rod?” Ian asked.  He turned it around in his big hands and frowned.

“Yes,” Kierin replied, maybe a little grouchily.

“Looks more like a sex toy.  Mind if I shove it up my arse?”

Kierin reached out and snatched it from him.

“You’ve lost control rod privileges.”

Cassan rolled her eyes at them both.  Independently of one another, they stopped at a stone awning.

“I take it this is the entrance to the town?” Cassan asked.

Ian glanced up at the hanged human body above their heads.

“Oh, this is a good sign.”

Honnleath looked to be built into the side of a mountain.  At least to Kierin, it looked that way.  A tall stone wall shielded the village from the elements and, unfortunately, the three of them.  Kierin felt a prodding in the back of his head and reached behind himself to draw his sword.  From around the bend, several villages ran past them, screaming.  In hot pursuit were the now-familiar stocky forms of Genlocks.

“Darkspawn!” he called out.

“It’s a good thing you Wardens can sense them,” Ian drawled as he notched an arrow. “Or else we’d be right fucked, wouldn’t we?”

Kierin scowled at him.  Ian ignored his expression and loosed an arrow.  It went in a high arch and landed squarely in the eye of the approaching Darkspawn.  His scowl deepened.  So the shemlen was a good shot.  He also noted that he was left-handed.  Either that or a show-off, which wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.  Kierin shook his head.  There was no time to be grousing about Ian when there were Darkspawn to kill.  Luckily, there weren’t as many Darkspawn here as he was fearing there would be and the three of them made quick work of those remaining.

With a final swing of his sword, Kierin managed to lop off the head of an armored Hurlock and flicked his gaze to the others.  Cassan spun her staff in one hand before placing it back behind her back and Ian was grinding one of his boots into the face of a dead Genlock.

“That the golem?” Cassan asked, pointing to a statue in the center of town.

“Either than or Honnleath has some weird ideas about decoration.”

Ian approached the golem and smacked his hand on one of its stone legs.

“Most towns put a statue of Andraste in the center here.  I’m glad that Honnleath is more creative.”

Kierin rolled his eyes and shoved him aside.

“What was the activation word again?” he asked.

Both Ian and Cassan stared at him with blank expressions on their faces.  He expected as much from Ian since he and Tarren had still been busy when they were told the so-called magic words.

“Cassan!” he snapped. “Come on.  You’re supposed to be the smart one!”

She scowled. “Since when?”

“You’re magic, aren’t you?  And learned from those sodding books you read!”

She shrugged.

“I guess I’m smarter than you lot.  Not that it’s hard.”

Ian stroked his chin and shrugged.

“I don’t know the weird elf with the facial tattoos seems pretty smart.”

“They’re scars,” Kierin corrected him distractedly.

“And Devyn’s not smart.  He just knows a lot of useless facts about werewolves,” Cassan added. “A lot of bloody good that did us.”

Ian frowned.

“Didn’t you all have to fight werewolves a few weeks ago?  I seem to remember Alistair telling me that on the way down from Highever...”

Cassan stamped her foot.

“That is besides the point!”

“I’m just saying.  Knowing stuff about werewolves doesn’t seem that useless...”

Kierin sighed and ground the control rod against his forehead.  There was really no way any of them could end the Blight, was there?

“It was Dwarven, wasn’t it?” he asked, trying to get them back to the task at hand.

Kierin thought back to the merchant earlier that day and what he had said.  He had been listening intently to the shemlen so as to drown out the skin-on-skin sound of Ian and Tarren going at it.  The memory clicked into place and he raised the control rod up in the air.

“Dulen gar!”

The golem didn’t move.

“Well,” Ian said. “That was anticlimactic.”

Kierin scowled and lifted the rod once more.

“Dulen gar!”

Once again there was no reaction from the golem.  Cassan crossed her arms over her chest.

“Maybe you’re saying it wrong.  Your Dalish accent is ruining the Dwarven language.”

“Cassan, don’t make fun of me while I’m holding a blunt object.”

“If the control rod’s busted can I put it up my arse now?”

“I don’t see why not,” Cassan said blithely.

Kierin groaned, unable to believe he was stuck with the two of them.  Before he could contemplate beating them both bloody with the control rod, he felt the poke in the back of his skull again.  Cassan must have felt it as well because she jerked her to the right.

“Darkspawn,” she said and jutted her chin towards a door not far from where they stood.

“I guess figuring out the golem will have to wait,” Kierin said and shoved the control rod into his pack.

“So if we’re not using it for a bit...”

He shot a glare at him.

“No, shemlen.  And if you don’t stop talking about it, the only thing going up your arse will be my foot.”

\--

Theron sat miserably in his tent, braiding his hair.  Before he had gotten his fever, the others thought he just got occasional seasonal colds.  Now they knew how sick he could get and now, like his Clan, they were going to treat him like glass.  The strangest feeling, though, was that he had not been that ill in a long time.  It was before he had even met Kierin, he was sure.  Coupled with that strange dream with the Archdemon, he was more than a little concerned.  Not, of course, concerned enough to tell Kierin when he got back.  He hoped no one else would tell him, either, since he didn’t need him bearing down on him even more.

Kierin had been even more protective of him than usual and it was starting to grate on his nerves.  He wasn’t fragile.  He couldn’t handle trauma that well, so what?  Kierin didn’t have someone die in his arms.  Kierin didn’t lose his lover.  Kierin didn’t get sick all the time because he was born too early.

Theron sighed and rested his chin on his bent knees.  Getting mad at Kierin wasn’t making him feel any better either.  He heard a nearly silent shuffle of footsteps outside his tent.

“Yes?” he called quietly.

Zevran bent down and put his head through the flap.

“May I come in?”

Theron opened his hand and Zevran crawled into the tent.  He sat close to him and smiled this strange sort of smile.  It was at once open and cagey and it sent a shiver down Theron’s spine.  He smiled back.

“You look better,” he remarked.

“My fever broke last night,” he replied. “Ma serannas...for staying with me during most of it.  I’m sure it wasn’t fun.”

Zevran gave a breathy chuckle.

“Oh, it wasn’t terrible.  You manage to remain completely gorgeous even while vomiting.”

Theron pushed some hair over his shoulder and lifted a brow.

“Really?”

“No, it was very disgusting.”

Theron gave a half-hearted chuckle and sighed.

“You’re about to ask, aren’t you?”

Zevran’s eyebrows rose.

“Ask what?” He was many things but a talented actor was not one of them.

“What I was doing in the woods the other night.”

He glanced to the side and then met Theron’s gaze.

“Maybe...I was wondering.”

“It’s no secret...I mean, I don’t think so.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, undoing the braids he had just done. “I used to sleepwalk when I was ill as a child but I had not for years.  I also had not been that sick since then.”

Zevran looked confused and Theron realized he would have to explain.

“I was born too early and it left me...with a poor constitution.  I was very sick as a fledgeling but I mostly grew out of it.” He flapped a hand dismissively. “Occasional colds, headaches, nothing serious.  This was the first true fever I got since before I received my vallaslin.”

Zevran’s brows knit in confusion. “Your...?”

He gestured to the tattoos on his face.

“Blood-writing.  Rite of passage for Dalish elves.”

“Ah.  I wondered about those when I stayed with a Clan.”

That piqued his interest.

“You stayed with a Dalish Clan?  I thought you were brought into the Crows as a child.”

A blush ruddied Zevran’s smooth, brown cheeks and he looked downright bashful.

“Well, my mother was Dalish.  And she had these gloves--somewhat like yours.  They were all I had of her, you see.  And I had all these ideas of what living with a Dalish Clan was like...but the reality was much colder...and wetter, than I thought.”

He laughed his lyrical laugh and the sound of it made a shiver work its way down Theron’s spine.

“I am a city boy,” he said, still smiling. “I am not ashamed.  And that was a Clan in Antiva.  I can’t imagine how wet and cold it is here in Ferelden.”

Theron shrugged because Ferelden’s wilderness was all he knew.  Zevran stared at him a moment longer before speaking.

“How did you become a Warden?”

And so he told him.  He told him about Tamlen and the mirror.  Kierein scoffing at Theron’s fears and apprehension, saying that nothing he was sensing was real.  The Taint.  He even found himself talking about Ostagar and Duncan’s final words.  He didn’t realize until Zevran took hold of his hands to lower them that he had buried his face in them.  Theron glanced up and blinked up at him, his breath suddenly ragged.  He hadn’t realized he ranted so much.  Zevran stared at him, his gaze steady.

He leaned in, then, and kissed him.  Theron’s breath caught.  It had been so long, it felt, since anyone kissed him.  Tamlen, in the ruins, when he was expressing his concern about exploring further.  Kissing him to reassure him that everything would be fine.  Zevran broke the kiss and Theron stared back at him, mouth wet and slightly open.

“Was that alright?” Zevran asked.

Not trusting his voice, he simply nodded.  Zevran kissed him again, deeper this time.  An ardency bloomed in Theron’s groin and he reached out to cup his face.  As they kissed, they slowly got more and more horizontal on the ground.

“You are so very beautiful,” Zevran murmured.

“I know.”

He laughed and tilted his face to the slope of his neck.  His teeth gently worried the skin there and Theron heard a gasp escape his own throat.  He felt Zevran’s lean body through the thin leather of the other elf’s armor to familiarize himself with it.  The last person he had been with, truly been with, was Tamlen who was built a fair bit differently than Zevran.  He grabbed the back of his neck and brought his mouth back to meet his.

“Oh,” Zevran said against his lips in surprise. “You are a bossy one?”

Theron arched his back and rubbed his crotch against his, smirking.

“I am and it’s been too long since I’ve had sex.”

He hitched his legs up around Zevran’s waist and pulled him tightly against him.

“Fuck me.”

“And here I thought Dalish spoke more formally...”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

It didn’t take long for them to get to the actual rutting.  Zevran had to fetch a vial of thick oil from his pack for lubrication before anything could be done.  Theron came quickly, having gone months without regular sex--he didn’t count his encounter with that Templar as it had been entirely one-sided--but Zevran didn’t seem to mind and just kept going.  Theron was on his back, legs high in the air while Zevran held him by his thighs, smirking down at him.

“Harder,” he commanded. “I’m not made of glass!”

Zevran threw back his head in laughter.  Afterwards, they cleaned themselves up and collapsed in a sweaty, spent pile on top of Theron’s bedroll.

“Would you believe that I’ve never been with a Dalish before?” Zevran asked breathlessly. “You know...interesting moves.”

“That’s not because I’m Dalish.  It’s because I’m good at sex,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Mmm...” Zevran traced a finger down his chest. “Now what?”

Theron stretched under him and shrugged.

“Now I’m hungry.”

Another chuckle.

“No, no.  Now what do we do after this?”

“I’m not ready for another lover if that’s what you’re asking,” he responded. “But I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”

“Good.  We are on the same page, then.”

Zevran reached up and tucked some hair behind Theron’s ear.  It felt strangely intimate, more intimate than the fact that they had just had sex, somehow.  He settled against him, not really cuddling against him but pleasantly next to him, their bodies in alignment.

“What are you doing?” Theron asked irritably. “I said I was hungry.  Feed me.”

“Normally I would argue but for that performance--so soon after recovering from illness might I add--I will gladly feed you.”

Theron pressed his hand against his stomach and grinned.  He felt good for the first time in nearly two weeks.  No, for the first time since this entire quest began.

\--

Fighting through the Darkspawn remaining in the house was simple.  Kierin figured that either they were getting far more skilled at killing them or the ones in Honnleath weren’t the shining stars of the horde.  He just sliced his sword through the chest of a Hurlock, bisecting it completely.  As the creature let out the squealing squawks of death, Kierin noticed for the first time that there were other people in this cellar with them.  They were humans as far as he could tell and behind some sort of purple-gold barrier.  With the last of the Darkspawn dead, one man waved his hand and everyone but him ran through the barrier and towards the outside.  When they were gone, he turned to look at them.

“D-did the Bann send you?”

“Do we look like the Bann sent us?” Ian asked as he shouldered his bow.

The man stared at him for a moment, squinting through the waving barrier with a frown on his face.  Kierin was terrible at judging human’s ages but he figured the man to be perhaps in his mid-thirties.

“I know you,” he said with surprise. “Y-you’re a Cousland!  The Teryn heard of our plight?”

Ian glanced away and, for the first time, Kierin saw him look something approaching upset.

“Not...exactly.  We’re Grey Wardens.  Well, they’re Grey Wardens.  I’m just a helper.  We’re here about that golem outside.”

“What...oh.” His face soured. “You must mean Shale.  Don’t know what you’d want with the blasted...”

He sighed and beckoned them inside the barrier.  Kierin strode through, not fearing the magic in the least.  Magic was magic and that was all.  Nothing special.

_Just like that mirror was nothing, right?_

Kierin had tried not to think about the mirror this entire time.  He had goaded Tamlen into touching it, brushing aside Theron’s concerns about the danger because he didn’t think it was anything.  Maybe some of his extra overprotectiveness over Theron lately was borne from the guilt of more or less being responsible for taking his lover away.  Some of it, anyhow.

“Shale?  S’got a name?” Ian asked, cocking his head to the side like a curious dog.

It never failed to amaze Kierin how much shemlen in this country seemed to act like the dogs they practically worshipped.  Alistair was the worst offender but Ian’s bark laugh and dog mannerisms weren’t far behind.

“That’s what my father called it, yes.  And the blasted thing killed him!” Rage kicked up in his voice on that last statement and Kierin’s interest was suddenly piqued.

“Killed him?” Cassan asked. “How?”

The man shrugged.

“My mother said she didn’t know.  She went out in the morning and saw that Shale was frozen and my father lay on the ground, every bone in his body broken.” His face screwed up once more into a mask of pain. “My father deserved better!  He fought in the Rebellion--for King Maric!”

“So did my dad,” Ian drawled. “And he got murdered by his best friend.”

Kierin caught anger heating up his words as well, simmering just under the surface of his smirks and innuendos.  Ian, he realized, was incredibly angry.  Well, that was for Maeve to figure out how to harness.  He might have been leader of this scouting mission but he had no illusions of being their overall leader.

“I...apologize, my Lord.”

“Ian,” he corrected gruffly.

“Ian...”

Kierin cleared his throat, figuring that they ought to get back to the task at hand.

“The control rod is broken anyway,” he said. “So you’re welcome for us saving you from Darkspawn but this mission has been pretty much a waste of time so.  We’ll be leaving.”

He gestured for Ian and Cassan to follow him back outside.

“Wait!”

A sigh escaped his lips.  At this point, they were never going to get back to camp in a timely fashion.

“What?” he asked in a flat, tired voice.  His accent broke for a moment and Cassan glanced at him in confusion.  Kierin swallowed and repeated, “What?”

“I...when my mother sold the control rod, she gave the wrong activation word so no one could activate it.  I can give the correct one...for a favor.”

Ian sighed and rolled his eyes upwards.

“Alright, fine.  Drop your trousers...”

The man looked confused.

“What?” The look of confusion cleared and he instead looked surprised. “Oh, no!  Not...no, not that.  My daughter, Amalia, got scared and ran off into the depths of my father’s lab.  I cannot get past his wards but I think Grey Wardens may be able to.  If you can bring her to me, I’ll give you the proper activation word.”

Kierin threw his arms out angrily.

“Fine.  Not like we’ve got anything else planned.”


	11. Chapter 11

Theron was easily the best-looking lover Zevran had ever had.  He watched him stride through camp, naked and victorious, and couldn’t help but feel smug.  The rising sun glinted off of his smooth amber skin that poured over his long, lean muscles.  Theron was without a doubt not only the best-looking man he’d ever been with but one of the best-looking men he had ever seen.

“Wow.”

Zevran turned at the word, punctuated by a slight exhale of breath, and saw that Devyn was admiring Theron as well.

“I know,” he said gleefully. “I imagine you heard?”

Devyn sat down and smirked at him, a gesture that looked almost odd on his otherwise sweet, innocent-looking face.

“Everyone heard.” He sighed and added, “I’m a bit jealous.  Alistair and I haven’t…”

“Oh?  He’s still a virgin, then?”

Zevran remembered Maeve dragging it out of him on their way to Highever.  Devyn nodded.

“Yeah.  He’s not ready yet and I respect that but...wow I really just want to jump him right here.  Like ride him into the sunset.”

Zevran choked at the last sentence and then burst into laughter.  He was surprised to hear it and realized that judging Devyn by his age or his wide-eyed appearance was probably unfair.

Maeve swooped in from nowhere and wrapped a blanket around Theron, spoiling his view.

“You are not catching cold again,” she said in a low growl. “Kierin will kill us all if you’re sick again.”

Theron pouted theatrically and threw himself down on the ground between Zevran and Devyn.

“We’re all restless, cousin,” Devyn pointed out. “We haven’t done much of anything for two weeks.”

Maeve sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Well you don’t see anyone else walking around naked in the middle of winter, do you?”

Theron shrugged under his blanket and leaned against Zevran.

“Don’t be jealous,” he said huffily.

“I’m not,” Maeve said back in a flat voice.

Devyn got to his feet and jerked a thumb at his chest.

“Well I’m going to Denerim.  We can’t just sit around with our thumbs up our asses while the Darkspawn organize and Loghain keeps...doing whatever he’s doing!” He balled his fists and stamped his foot.

Maeve sighed and Zevran took it as an indication that she knew that there was no arguing with her cousin.

“Try not to get arrested.”

\--

“How’s it going over there?” Ian called jovially.  He spun her staff around in one hand.

Cassan responded by flashing a rude hand gesture at him.  Kierin shook his head.

“Sit still,” Amalia chastised him.

He did as he was told, not moving his head.  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the demon masquerading as a cat.  They were pretending to free it in order to kill it and get Amalia to safety.  The locks seemed to be a sliding puzzle set with arcing flames that needed to connect.  It was soon discovered--by Ian burning the seat of his trousers--that only those with arcane abilities could touch the flames unharmed.  Thus Cassan toiled away at rearranging the tiles while he and Ian occupied themselves with distracting Amalia.

She was poised behind Kierin, braiding the ends of his short hair.  It had grown out a little from how shorn it was since he had not had a chance to keep it as cropped as he liked but it was still far, far too short to make a proper braid.  He imagined that Amalia would have a field day with Theron’s hair.  That is in the hypothetical situation where he would ever allow anyone who wasn’t himself or Ashalle to mess with his hair.  She had already entertained herself with bits of spare bowstring that Ian kept in his quiver that she made into bracelets for them and herself.  And up until “Kitty” yelled at them for harming her host, they had been tossing her back and forth to each other while she shrieked in joy.

“Braid Ian’s hair,” he told her. “He has more of it than I do.”

Ian’s lip curled up on the corner as he snorted a laugh.

“Not by much.  When Cassan’s done, you can go to town on her hair.”

“No she won’t!” came the agitated cry.

Amalia giggled and hugged Kierin from behind.  It felt good, he thought.  He didn’t mind shemlen children.  It was when they grew up where you had to worry.

“I like you Wardens and, um, you non-Warden,” she said happily. “You’re good friends.”

The demon glared at them as if it were aware that they were sapping Amalia’s allegiance away from it.  Kierin smirked.  Good.

“Nearly done,” Cassan said.

Kierin got to his feet and crouched down.

“Amalia,” he said. “Do you want to go on a halla-back ride?”

“A what?” Ian asked incredulously. “You mean a horsie ride, right?”

“No, I am fairly certain it’s halla.”

“Cousland’s right.  It’s horse.”

Kierin let out an agitated sigh.

“Fine, whatever.  Amalia do you want to go on a ‘riding animal’ ride?”

“Sure!”

She leapt up onto Kierin’s shoulders and latched her legs around his waist.

“And done.”

Cassan got up and stepped away from the puzzle.  The light, membranous barrier that had been blocking their exit dissipated.  The cat got to its feet, purple eyes glowing with delight.

“Good.  Now, give me the girl.”

“Hmmm…” Ian tapped the tip of his finger on his lower lip as if in consideration. “No.  I don’t think we will.”

“What?” it demanded. “We had a deal, Wardens!”

Cassan stepped up next to Ian who handed her back her staff.

“Well you see,” she said with a smirk. “The first thing they teach you at the Circle Tower is ‘don’t make deals with demons.’”

She summoned purple energy to her hands as Ian notched an arrow.  Kierin was admittedly impressed.  He hadn’t even seen him draw his bow.  He did, though, have no time to even watch their fight.

“Hold on,” he whispered to Amalia.

Kierin turned on his heel and took off away from the room.  He heard the angry howl of the demon behind him but didn’t turn around.  He had no doubt that Ian and Cassan would take care of it.  Amalia had no such qualms and twisted her head around.

“Wow that arrow went right in Kitty’s throat!” she exclaimed, sounding oddly happy about that.

Kierin kept running until he reached her father.  The anxiety on his face melted away the moment he saw his daughter’s face peeking over his shoulder.

“Amalia!”

“Papa!”

Amalia climbed down from Kierin’s shoulders and latched her arms around her father.  A wave of sentimentality washed over Kierin and he briefly remembered his own parents, before they died.  They were fuzzy memories and they grew fuzzier each year but he could remember a man, blond and broad like him, and a woman whose hands were always warm and dry.  Those sensations were soon replaced by Ashalle’s welcoming smile.  He shook his head to clear it and smiled thinly at the human.

“One demon dead and gone!”

Ian’s booming voice came behind them as he and Cassan caught up.

“I fried it with a spirit bolt,” Cassan said with a sniff of superiority.

Ian scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, after I shot it full of arrows.  It was already dead.  You just got rid of the evidence.”

They glared at each other and, to Kierin, they looked a bit like siblings despite, well, despite the very obvious physical indicators that they weren’t.  Plus, judging by what he saw at the Tower, Cassan was most definitely not in the market for another brother.

“Whatever, hamhead.  Anyway, we killed the demon and got your daughter back.  Give us the activation word so this entire trip wasn’t a colossal waste of time.”

The man stopped embracing Amalia and righted himself.

“Right...the activation word is ‘dulen harn.’” He paused and then stared at them all intently. “May the Maker preserve you all.”

\--

Devyn kept low, creeping along the inner wall of the Denerim marketplace.  He knew he was terrible at stealth.  At least, he thought, he had the foresight not to come in his armor or with his axe.  He was dressed in the ill-fitting clothes he had had with him from the beginning of their excursion and most of the blood stains were out.  He had knives secreted in his boots, though, since he knew it foolish to walk so close to Loghain completely unarmed.

He slipped along the wall, trying not to look too suspicious even though he was out in broad daylight.  Near the gate was a guard.  Devyn sauntered towards him as casually as he could, trying to emulate Theron.  Theron moved like poetry in motion.  Devyn kind of clomped around, walking as though he weighed more than he actually did.  Still, he tried to imagine Theron in his head as he ever so casually approached the gate.

“Hello,” he said in a syrupy sweet voice. “I take it the Alienage is still closed off?”

The guard regarded him with scrutinizing eyes and Devyn suddenly wished he had put some powder or something on his face.  There were definitely warrants out for all of them and he was probably the most easily recognizable of them all.

“You sneak out, elf?” he asked in a flatly accented drawl.

Devyn screwed his face up, smile gone.

“If I snuck out, would I just walk up here to try and get back in?” he shot back. “And if I snuck out, wouldn’t that mean that you’re shitty at your job?”

The guard’s face dropped into a scowl and Devyn mentally cursed.  He really needed to work on his diplomatic skills.

“Listen, knife-ear--”

Instinctively, Devyn cracked his knuckles at the slur.  Someone was about to punched in the face and it wasn’t going to be him.

“Just tell me what happened in there and why that bastard Howe had to purge my people and I’ll bloody your nose.”

The guard eyed him and said, “Don’t you mean ‘or?’”

“No.  Tell me what happened and I’ll only bloody your nose.”

The guard scowled and reached behind his back for his sword.

“Look, knife-ear, I don’t know who you think you are but--”

He stopped mid-sentence and stared at something over Devyn’s shoulder.  Without another word, he thumped himself in the chest, no longer going for his weapon.

“Sergeant Kylon, ser!”

Devyn turned and saw a man he figured to be in his mid-thirties approaching the gate.  He was tall and broad in that way most Fereldans were and had a head of thick dark hair with a matching crop of stubble on his chiseled cheekbones.

“Oh, hello,” he whispered under his breath.  Devyn felt a surge of blood go straight to his groin and he tried to ignore it.  To be fair, it had less to do with this man’s attractiveness and more to do with the fact that being around Alistair got him going and he had no way to relieve it with him.  Not yet, anyway.

“Run along,” he said to the guard. “I’ll relieve you for a bit, yeah?”

He tipped his head to the side in a way that gave no cause for objections.  The guard thumped himself in the chest again and took off.  Devyn smiled at the newcomer--this Sergeant Kylon--uneasily.

“Heya…”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

He felt his eyes scrutinizing him all over and Devyn squirmed.  He sent a mental apology to Maeve, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to follow her rule of not getting arrested.

“Uh…” he thought fast, saying the first name that came to mind. “Darrian.  That’s my name.”

Kylon’s eyes narrowed as he continued to stare.

“You look familiar.”

“Um…”

He figured that if he hit Kylon hard enough to knock him down, he could dash across the center square and be out of the Market District within a few moments.

“Oh!  I know who you are!” he said with a sudden burst of excitement.

“Loghain framed us!” he blurted.

“What?”

“What?”

Kylon frowned.

“We’ll deal with that in a moment but you...you are that little elf I used to escort to the Alienage from...various locations.”

Devyn’s face heated up.  He remembered Kylon now, vaguely.  He was always too drunk, staggering home before sunrise, and always amazed to make it back to his house in one piece.  There was a guard who’d find him, usually after one or two men had had him in their bed--old, greasy men because that was all who wanted him--and led him safely to the Alienage.  He had a soothing rumble of a voice but that was all he could remember about him.

“Oh, um.  Yes.  That would be me…” He coughed under his breath.

“And you’re a Grey Warden now, yes?”

“You could say that…”

Kylon smiled at him and that threw him for a loop.

“Then let me just tell you now: one, the image Howe passed around the Garrison did you no credit and two, I don’t believe a word of it.”

Devyn exhaled in relief.  So he wasn’t going to get arrested--probably.

“Although…” Kylon tapped his chin with the tip of his index finger. “If you’d be willing to do me a favor…”

“Yeah?”

Kylon quickly ran through his favor, which involved taking care of some missionaries who wouldn’t stop bothering workers at the Pearl.  Devyn agreed partially because he wanted to get out of the Market District and partially because there was someone at the Pearl he was itching to talk to.

The path to the brothel was much as he remembered.  Gunnar had dragged him there once he came of age but Devyn was perpetually broke and, thus, only ever sat around the dining area while his friends and cousins were in the rooms.  What money he did have usually went to booze.  He would get drunk enough that someone would take him somewhere.  The “somewhere” was usually an alley or, if he was lucky, a house.  It wasn’t really something he was proud of but it was what he figured he deserved.  He wasn’t good-looking, and he wasn’t tall or muscular and though the story behind them didn’t embarrass him, sometimes he worried that his scars turned so many potential suitors.  He was lucky that the slimes he slept with even wanted him.  Alarith hadn’t wanted him.  He said it was because he was too young but he knew he was disgusted with him.  Alistair wanted him for some reason the Maker only knew but he would probably grow tired of him eventually, too.  The only thing that kept him around was his naivete.  Maeve always told him he needed to work on his self-esteem but what did she know?

Finding the mercenaries in the Pearl was even easier than getting there.  A group of men in steel armor were laughing too loud in the corner.  He marched towards them, suddenly wishing he had opted for his armor and axe.  In his shabby clothes, he probably looked like a little kid.

“Oi!” he said loudly, hoping his raspy voice would make up for his size. “I’m gonna hafta ask you gentlemen to leave.”

The man he took to be their leader got up and stalked over to him.

“Get a load of this guard...is he a guard?” He squinted at him. “Looks more like a knife-eared brat.”

Devyn sighed and grabbed the man’s wrist.  He moved quickly, tossing him over his shoulder so he landed hard on his back on the floor of the brothel.

“I’m gonna say it again: leave.”

The man scrambled to his feet and motioned to his fellow missionaries.

“Come on, then.”

They filed out, looking properly chastised, and Devyn felt proud of himself.  He liked being able to actually use his strength on dirtbags.

“Ooh, look at you.  Not as dead as they said, huh?”

The voice behind him was familiar and he turned, delighted.

“Gunnar!”

His friend’s face split into a smile and he embraced him.  Devyn hugged him tight, careful not to hug him too tightly, and felt a wave of homesickness wash over him.

“Maker’s shithole, Dev, maybe tell us you’re not dead once in awhile,” he said once he let go. “They had a funeral for you both!”

He bit his lip, feeling awful.

“Well we’re alive...we just...have been busy.” He winced. “How’s my papa?”

Gunnar tossed some long blond hair over his shoulder and put his hands on his hips.  The gesture reminded him of Theron and that confused him.  He had known Theron for only a couple months.  Gunnar he had known almost his entire life.

“I don’t know.  I haven’t been allowed back since they closed off the Alienage...my siblings…” He looked down.

“Oh...hey.  I have to go back to camp.  Um, if they ever let you in, let the others know about me and Maeve, okay?”

Gunnar nodded and hugged him one last time.  Devyn started towards the door.  He was halfway down the alley before he heard someone calling his name.

“Devyn!  Devyn, there you are!”

He turned and saw Leliana running towards him, one arm lifted high in a wave.

“You were looking for me?” he asked.

She reached him and seized his hand, dragging him along behind her.

“Come on!” Her voice sounded loud and fake. “Let’s go!”

“Um...alright?”

\--

“Maeve is going to kill us, you know that right?” Cassan asked.

Kierin opted to ignore her.

“Why?” Ian asked. “It’s not like we’re bringing another mouth to feed--technically.”

A grumble from the golem behind them.  Shale seemed far different than what Kierin had known about golems, which was admittedly not a lot.  They seemed to have an attitude, for one.  For two, they didn’t obey the rod.  Ian, of course, had a party over that.  He snatched it from Kierin’s hand and said, “I know where I’m putting this.”

Kierin honestly didn’t care what Cousland did with the inactive control rod or how Maeve was going to react to their newest addition.  He only cared about Theron’s health.  He hadn’t seen him quite so sick though he had heard that his fevers used to get especially bad in the winter months.

“I’ve been wondering…” Cousland said because he was unable to go more than five seconds without talking, “what exactly is the connection between you and Theron?  Are you brothers?  You don’t look related.”

Before he could answer, Cassan snidely did for him.

“Apparently they’re just Clan-mates raised by the same woman.  So he’s just freakishly overprotective of a friend.  At least Maeve and Devyn are cousins…”

He scowled at her.  Every time he thought Cassan was being less acidic, she seemed to find a way to get worse.

“Eh, bonds don’t have to be familial for there to be that connection of overprotectiveness.  I mean, there was this guard back at my family’s castle who was always super overprotective of me to the point of suffocation and we weren’t related at al--” Ian choked on the last word and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as if trying to ward off tears.  He lowered them after a moment and took in a shaky breath. “So, yeah, Kierin.  I understand.”

A stony rumble behind them indicated that Shale had been paying attention to their conversation.

“Hmmm…”

Kierin glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the golem. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“I find it amusing that it speaks to me in such a way when it--that is, the angry Dalish--is very easily squishable.”

He huffed under his breath and continued walking.  He was in no mood to deal with Shale either.

\--

In the shadows, Marjolane watched Leliana’s retreating back.  Her lips curled up around her teeth in a snarl and her hands snapped unconsciously into fists.  She had to be looking for her here.  That girl, her Leliana, that crafty little thing.  For two years she had deceived her, living a peasant’s life in Lothering, but now there she was.  There she was back in the leathers that hugged her curves so well.  The way her long, tapered fingers wrapped around the grip of her bow.  Even with her hair chopped so short and blunt she was fascinating.

Who, though, was that scrawny elf she was with?  For one so small, he was attractive enough, she figured.  But she disliked the way Leliana seized his hand and dragged him off.  Moreover, she disliked the obviously forcibly jolly way she spoke as if she knew she was being watched.  The elf, who looked no older than a child, had to be her new lover.  Leliana had certainly downgraded.

Still, he bothered her far less than Leliana’s demeanor.  She needed to see her.  If she knew she was being watched then it would not take her long to figure out who it was.  She needed to act and she needed to act now.  And if she happened to kill that tiny elf in her attempts to get Leliana to come to her well that simply couldn’t be avoided.

\--

Kierin walked down the narrow path that snaked around the cliff, his back pressed against the rocky precipice.  Below him, the canyon teemed with Darkspawn to the point where he couldn’t make out individuals.  They were one creature, one writhing mass.  He inched along, moving sideways.  His toes hung over the ledge and pebbles dropped off towards the bottom of the trench.

He spotted someone sitting on a bridge up ahead.  It was lower than the main bridge and rickety, half-hewn as if the Darkspawn themselves had made it.  The figure was sitting cross-legged and staring forward.  A stale wind blew through the canyon and it smelled like raw meat and decay.  The wind blew the figure’s hair back and, against the rancid backdrop, it fluttered like black silken tendrils.

“Theron!”

His voice died in the still air, unable to carry to where his Clan-mate sat.  The wind kicked up again and Kierin realized that it was no natural wind.  It was the blowback from the Archdemon’s wings.  The great dragon landed, somehow not making the bridge collapse.  It brought its head forward on its snake-like neck and its beady black eyes studied Theron.

“Theron!” he shouted once more.

To his surprise, the Archdemon moved its head forward to nuzzle Theron like the kittens they’d see when they would approach shemlen towns.  The cats flocked to the hunters with their good rapport with animals and Kierin would watch from afar, jealous at how they rubbed against Theron and the others.  Its spiked tail wrapped around Theron and dragged him close.

“Theron!”

He moved faster, sliding as fast as he could to reach the bridge.  A hand came down on his shoulder and he jerked, nearly toppling from the ledge.  Kierin turned and saw another elf.  He was Dalish, if the vallaslin on his face was any indication.  Glossy black hair was braided and wrapped around a knot at the top of his head.  His eyes were a striking sage color and his skin a rich amber.  In fact, to Kierin, he looked a bit like Theron.  His jaw was more square, though, and he didn’t have Theron’s ethereal beauty.

“Ma abelas,” he said. “It is my fault it’s chosen him.  My blood runs in his veins...”

“Chosen…?  Blood?”

“It could be due to his father’s powers, though, his...awareness.  That is no fault of mine.”

“Who are you?” Kierin demanded crossly.

A slow, uneasy smile formed on the elf’s face.

“I cannot say right now...I am not even to be here.  But protect him, Kierin.  That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

He opened his mouth to ask him how he knew that--how he knew who he was and how he was related to Theron--but the elf disappeared.  Kierin reached forward and fell from the ledge.  He squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them, he found himself on his bedroll at the camp that he, Cassan, and Ian had set up.  He caught Shale staring at him and he curled his lip.  The golem made a rumbling noise that came deep from within its chest but Kierin ignored it.

Instead, he laid out on the ground and stared up at the starless winter night.  And wondered what the dream meant.

\--

Leliana studied Devyn’s expression.  He had his mouth turned down in a frowned and his eyebrows knit together.  His eyes were intense but, then, they always were.

“Well?” she prompted.

He ran his hands through his short hair, managing to make it even messier than usual.  He settled his arms to fold them over his chest.

“You ought to tell Maeve,” he said finally.

“I plan on it.”

“Good...if we’re in danger too…”

Leliana nodded but she was markedly surprised at how responsible Devyn was being.  She often viewed him like a child due to his small stature and the fact that he was in fact the youngest of them all.

“We can handle her,” he said, then, smacking his fist into his open palm.

She giggled.  Ah, there was the headstrong boy she knew.

“Marjolane is very tricky, you know.”

“Well we’ve our own bard.”

Her giggle died.

“I...gave that life up.  I may still have the skills but--”

“Oh!” he interjected. “I meant Theron.  He might not really be a bard but…”

“He would make a good one,” she agreed.

They reached the clearing where they set up camp and Leliana knew that her time facing the others was fast approaching.  Devyn may have taken the story of her past well but she had no idea how the others would.

“Devyn!”

Alistair came racing towards them, waving both his arms above his head.  Devyn rushed to greet him halfway and Alistair caught him in his big, burly arms.

“Lunch?” he asked, face as hopeful as a puppy’s.

Devyn bucked him with his hip and said, “You only want me for my cooking.”

“No, I want all of you!  Your cooking is just a nice bonus.”

Alistair kissed his cheek and blushed.  Leliana couldn’t help but smile despite her dour mood.  She was truly glad that they found each other.  They were unbearably cute.

“Um...Alistair, can you get the others?  There’s something I need to tell you all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> considering that it took me almost four months to write this, you'd think more would have happened...


	12. Chapter 12

Maeve stared in disbelief.  She felt rage, surprise, confusion but it didn’t show on her face.  It was as if the emotions cancelled out and all that there was was her dark, wide-eyed stare and her lips drooped and slightly parted.

“Maeve, this is Shale,” Ian said with a cheerful smile.

“They aren’t another mouth to feed,” Cassan added.

“They?” Morrigan asked.

Cassan’s cheeks went red and she looked uncharacteristically bashful.

“Well...Shale never told us their gender so I’m, uh, being fair…”

“Oh.”

Morrigan seemed uninterested in Shale and Cassan’s statement.  Her eyes were on Ian.  She came up to him and ran a hand daintily down one of his beefy biceps.

“I missed your company,” she said, her painted lips curving up into a smile.

Ian’s eyes darted to Cassan in a way Maeve didn’t entirely understand and she turned her hand down in a way eerily reminiscent of the two Dalish.  Maeve had caught herself doing Theron’s sweeping hand gestures lately as if them being in close quarters was beginning to rub off on one another.  Ian smiled at the gesture and let Morrigan lead him over to her tent.

Kierin looked impatient with everything--which was nothing new--and let out an aggravated sigh.

“He’s at the lake,” Maeve replied, knowing the exact cause for his impatience.

Kierin pressed the tips of his fingers to his breastplate and departed.

“What did we miss?” Cassan asked and, to Maeve’s surprise, it sounded like she actually wanted to know.

Maeve tore her gaze from Shale’s imposing form and met Cassan’s eyes.

“Leliana was an Orlesian Bard.”

Her eyes widened and, for a moment, she actually looked like the young teenager she was.

“Seriously?” Even her voice had less of its usual edge.

“Yes...formerly.”

“Which is Leliana?”

Maeve jumped at the sound of the golem’s voice.

“Oh, Shale has free will,” Cassan explained.

To Maeve, it sounded like something Ian would say with his too-wide smile and constant laughing eyes.  She wondered if they had possibly bonded during their mission.  All things considered, it could have been worse.  Some of Kierin could have rubbed off on her.

“Well?” Shale sounded impatient.

Maeve met the golem’s gaze and said, “Leliana is one of our archers.  She has red hair.  Can’t miss her.”

Shale may have nodded before it made its way over to the far end the camp.

“What happened?” Maeve asked.

Cassan shrugged.

“We killed a bunch of Darkspawn in a village and got a golem as a prize.  Oh, and also saved a girl from being possessed by a cat demon.”

Yes, she was definitely spending too much time around Cousland.  Maeve didn’t know Ian enough to know whether this was a good thing or a bad thing but she couldn’t help but think that this was an improvement over her previous surly disposition.

“Get some rest,” Maeve said with a shake of her head.

“Alright, mother.”

She chose to ignore that comment.

\--

Kierin walked down the slope to the lake, expecting to find Theron bathing.  Instead he found him and Zevran sparring with their knives.  Theron looked better.  The color was back to his face and he was obviously well enough to fight.

Zevran feinted and swept Theron under the leg.  He tripped but leapt back onto his hands and propelled his body backwards, kicking up under Zevran’s ribcage as he went over.  Kierin was impressed.  He didn’t know his Clan-mate could fight like that.  Then again, the hunters were always trained to fight in a more underhanded manner than the warriors.  Zevran leaped and tackled him to the ground and, to Kierin’s surprise, leaned down to kiss him gently on the mouth.  Theron’s grip on his knives relaxed and he moved his hands to push them into Zevran’s hair.  Kierin cleared his throat loudly.  At the sound, he shoved Zevran off of him and leapt to his feet.

“Lethallin!  You’re back!”

He rushed towards him, arms thrown out.  Kierin nearly smiled.  They were back to their usual relationship--one of closeness--after what felt like ages of awkward hostility.  Maybe Maeve was right (not that he’d ever tell her that) and Theron just needed space from him doting on him.  Zevran chuckled and Kierin saw not an ounce of jealousy on his face as he got to his feet and strode towards them.

“I shall leave you both alone then, yes?” He reached out and drew the tip of his finger along the line of Theron’s jaw. “Until later…”

Theron smiled at him and Kierin noticed his Clan-mate’s eyes stay on Zevran’s rear as he moved back towards the main camp with a dreamy-eyed look on his face.  His temper bubbled up inside him and he tried to keep it down.

“You’re sleeping with him?” he asked harshly.

It didn’t work.

Theron retracted his arms from where they had been loosely looped around his shoulders and frowned.

“So what if I am?”

A strange feeling constricted in Kierin’s chest...jealousy?  Was he jealous?  Maybe part of him liked being the only one Theron had a connection to.  Oh, sure, he was far more pleasant with the others than he was but, deep down, they had had each other.  And now there was someone else.  He clenched his jaw and tried not to say what he was thinking.

“I’m sure Tamlen would be thrilled to see you move on so quickly.” Once again, it didn’t work.

It happened so fast that he wasn’t even sure what had happened until it was over.  He saw Theron’s shoulder hitch and then there was a sharp, stinging pain on the side of his face.  It took another beat for him to realize that Theron had slapped him.

“Wh--?”

He sputtered, still confused.

“Don’t you dare, Kierin,” he spat.

He swallowed and pressed a hand against his cheek, feeling the heat from Theron’s blow.  He was mad.  If the slap didn’t tell him that it was the fact that he was using his full name.  Not “lethallin” and not “Kee.”

“You don’t think I feel like I’m betraying him?  You don’t think that I feel like sleeping with Zevran is turning my back on the small chance that he’s still out there?” he demanded. “Or that it’s been so long since I’ve been held and the last time anyone even held me was Duncan as he died?  Or that everything is awful and terrible and Tamlen’s dead and I’m stuck in this horrible living death until I croak in the Deep Roads and leave a beautiful, tainted corpse and that it isn’t wrong for me to seek one nice thing for myself in the midst of all this but that I still feel terrible and you just march right in like you have any right to tell me any of this and--”

He cut off his half-strangled rant and stormed away.

“Thero!” He called, using the shortened version of his name he hadn’t used since they were fledgelings.

All he got in response was a rude hand gesture he probably picked up from Devyn.  Kierin sighed.  He hadn’t meant to muck things up with Theron so quickly.  What was his problem?  Seeing no reason to stand by the lake pondering this, he trudged back towards camp.  Theron was nowhere to be found but Alistair and Devyn were around the fire as the latter cooked dinner.

“What did you do?” Devyn asked. “Theron came over here looking like someone pissed in his porridge.”

Alistair snorted and said, “I’m sure if someone ruined Theron’s meal he’d be a bit more than angry.”

“None of your business,” Kierin snarled in response.

He went to his tent and decided not to come out until they left for Redcliffe.

\--

It was decided that going to Redcliffe was a Wardens-only affair.  Maeve began to regret that decision the moment they left camp.  There was tension among them.  Theron and Kierin weren’t speaking to each other for whatever reason--she suspected it had something to do with Zevran--and Alistair had been surprisingly quiet, not even speaking to Devyn.  Cassan, too, kept glancing over her shoulder as if expecting someone to race after them.  In fact, only Devyn seemed to be his usual self.

Walking with the lot of them, Maeve was vividly reminded of the fact that they were all teenagers.  Alistair was the oldest and he was only twenty.  They were all in their late teens but still teenagers all the same and, thus, she had to deal with their drama.  Kierin was jealous of Theron and Zevran because he loved Theron but had no idea that he did.  Alistair and Devyn...well she still wasn’t used to that.  Cassan, as far as she knew, was still hopelessly pining over Morrigan while denying it to everyone around her.  It was headache-inducing.

As if reading her thoughts, Theron suddenly asked, “Maeve, how come you’ve not dallied with anyone?”

These children were going to be the death of her.  She sighed.

“Because that would be adultery, Theron.”

“Huh?”

Devyn smiled broadly and said, “Cousin Maeve’s married.  To a boring ‘ol blacksmith named Nelaros.”

“He’s not boring.”

Maeve clucked her tongue at him and then sighed again.  She hadn’t realized until the moment his name was spoken that she missed Nelaros.  He was calm and dependable.  They got on well--they worked.  She didn’t love him but she cared for him and that was close enough.

“How long have you been married?” Alistair asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“A little less than ten years.  Since I was Devyn’s age.”

Something seemed to catch light in Cassan’s head and she held a finger up in sudden realization.

“Oh, that’s right!  When Duncan and I went to the Alienage, there was a wedding going on.”

“Whose?” Alistair asked, his tone still irritatingly curious.

“Whose do you think?”

Cassan leaned over and pinched Devyn in the arm.  He jerked, letting out a squeak that was far higher than his regular voice.

“You...you’re married?” Alistair asked in disbelief.

He rubbed his arm and answered his lover while glaring at Cassan.

“The wedding didn’t actually happen.”

Alistair glanced up and away and the side of his cheek caved in as if he were gnawing on the inside.

“But it was a secret you were keeping from me?”

“Um...I suppose?” Devyn’s brow crinkled.

“Alright.  Just.  Remember that--later.”

As usual, Alistair was speaking in that half-stilted, awkward and confusing way he normally spoke but it seemed to be cranked up higher with anxiety.  Maeve wondered what was preoccupying him.

“Kierin hasn’t been with anyone either,” she said.  She knew it was petty but Devyn looked uncomfortable and she would be lying if she said she didn’t put him above all others in their party.

“That’s because he’s saving himself for Theron,” Devyn said and then it was his turn to be pinched, this time by an angry Dalish elf.

Maeve shook her head.  She still wasn’t entirely sure what Duncan anticipated recruiting a bunch of teenagers--and her--into an order as prestigious as the Wardens.  She still didn’t know Cassan’s full story but as for herself, Devyn, Theron, and Kierin, it was to save their lives.

“Why were you recruited into the Wardens?” she asked, skirting her gaze between Alistair and Cassan.

She tightened her horsetail and bit her lip before saying, “I helped another apprentice escape.  He ended up being a blood mage.  I got caught--Duncan bailed me out.”

To Maeve’s keen ears, she noticed the usual edge gone from her voice.  Something about Cassan had softened in the weeks they’d been traveling.  It was as if she was actually warming to them.

“Alistair was at the Chantry,” Devyn piped up. “Duncan conscripted him when he saw how unhappy he was.”

Alistair’s cheeks reddened and he looked down at his boots.

“You remember me saying that?” he mumbled.

Devyn slipped his hand into the crook of his arm and smiled up at him.

“Of course.”

Reflexively, Maeve’s jaw clenched.  She had no reason to hate Alistair but something about him and Devyn together still put her on edge.  Before she could press any matter further, she felt it--that poke in the back of her head.  The others noticed it, too.  Devyn and Alistair extracted themselves from each other and Theron unslung his bow.

“Darkspawn!” she shouted. “Get ready!”

Soon, cresting over the hill, she could see a group of Hurlocks approaching them, blades drawn.

“Are they lost?” Kierin asked gruffly, swinging his sword down into a battle stance.

“Pity, that.”

Theron notched an arrow and let it fly into a Hurlock’s throat.  Black-blood sprayed up from the wound and the creature dropped to its knees before falling flat, dead.

“Take care of them quickly,” Maeve commanded. “We need to get to Redcliffe.”

Devyn gave her a sarcastic salute.  He crouched down and sprung out on his legs to launch himself at the warband.  He swung his axe around in a circle and managed to knock the Darkspawn back.  Maeve pretended not to notice Alistair’s slight swoon.  The group was taken care of in short order but something felt wrong.  She slipped her shield back into position and frowned.

“There were very few of them.”

“There were,” Theron said with an air of disappointment. “And they were carrying nothing.”

He was crouched down over one of the Hurlocks, nimble hands probing around the armor to try and find something of worth.  Maeve didn’t know why he did that.  He had worn the same armor and used the same knives and bow since their journey began.  She had no clue why he seemed to want treasure and money.  Before she could ask him, the ground beneath them began to shake.  Theron pitched forward to fall onto the Hurlock, getting gore smeared on his face and in his hair.

“What was that?” he demanded angrily.

He lifted his head and moved some bloodied hair back, his face screwed up in disgust.

“You alright, lethallin?” Kierin asked.

Theron jerked away from him and got to his feet.  The ground shook again and this time it was Alistair who faltered.  He swung back, arms wheeling around, until Devyn caught him by the back and pushed him back up.

“What is that?” Cassan demanded.  She planted her feet firmly as if it would help her keep her balance.

Devyn peeked around Alistair’s back and Maeve saw his eyes widen with fright.

“Ogre!” he cried.

“Where?”

“Ogre--er--over there!”

He pointed towards the hills and, yes, Maeve could see a pair of horns bobbing up over the hills.  She remembered her cousin telling her about the ogre he and Alistair had encountered in the Tower of Ishal.

“Don’t flip this one over your shoulder,” Alistair said with an awkward chuckle.

“Not planning on it.”

Maeve squinted her eyes at them, wondering what that meant.  Her cousin’s strength was impressive but she couldn’t imagine him lifting that...thing over his head.  Next to her, Theron balled his fists and glared at the approaching behemoth.

“He made me get blood in my hair,” he growled.

Before anyone--well, Kierin--could stop him, Theron dashed at the ogre.  He flicked his hands to the side and the knives he kept in his wrist sheaths fell into his hands.  As he reached it, he bent his legs and pounced at the beast.  He swung his body around its neck and straddled his legs on either side.  To Maeve, it reminded her of her childhood in the Alienage when she’d take turns carrying her younger cousins around on her shoulders.

“Should we help him or…?” Cassan trailed off, lifting her hands in a helpless manner.

“Let him do it,” Kierin said with a huff.

Theron lifted his knives and drove them into the ogre’s eyes.  A loud roar made the trees around them shake.  Cassan lost her footing and tripped over her staff.  She landed rear-first into a dead Hurlock with a sickening squelching sound.

“Thanks, Theron,” she grumbled.

He yanked the knives free and then struck them across the back of the ogre’s neck.  With one last roar, it fell.  Theron flipped off of it and landed in a crouched position, his knives out.  Behind him, the ogre crashed to the ground that sent another tremor through the ground.  He righted himself and slid the blades back into their sheaths.

“Redcliffe awaits,” he said and then wrinkled his nose. “After I wash my hair.”

Maeve sighed and sidestepped the dead ogre.

“That can wait until we set up camp.”

“Don’t worry about your hair,” Devyn quipped with a sly smile. “I’m sure Kierin still wants you.”

He and Cassan laughed and Maeve was once again reminded that these were teenagers.  She tweaked both their ears, which earned her a grateful look from Kierin.

“Start walking,” she commanded. “All of you.”

With a mutual grumble, her fellow Wardens fell in step behind her.  Maeve continued, finding herself less glad that the battle was over and more glad that they were all no longer talking about sex.

\--

Ian gripped Morrigan’s waist and pulled her closer to him.  She let out a moan and wrapped her limbs around his back.  They were currently crouched in her tent, furiously having sex.  Ian had been having sex regularly since he was fourteen but never had he been with anyone quite like Morrigan.  Being with her was like being caught in a storm.  Almost like he was swimming against the tide and coming was like going up for air.

When they finished, Morrigan pushed some sweaty hair back from her face and smirked at him.  Her lipstick was smeared, most of it on Ian’s neck that she had attacked quite voraciously in a way that he knew would leave marks and bruises.

“Until next time.”

There was never any room for question in her tone.  That meant that she was done with Ian and he was fine with that.  He grinned broadly and stood to get his trousers back on.  He waited to pull on his sleeveless tunic until he was back outside, feeling the winter chill on his bare skin, raising it just a tad.  He rubbed his hands over his naked arms and made his way over to the fire where Zevran and Leliana were sitting.

“Enjoy yourself?” Zevran asked.  His lips twisted a measure.

Ian folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against one of the logs that sat in a circle around the firepit.

“I always do.”

“There is so much more sexual activity going on,” Leliana said. “After two years of nothing, it’s a bit of a shock.  Devyn and Alistair...you and Morrigan.  Zevran and Theron…”

“How’s that going, by the way?” Ian asked.

A blush rose to Zevran’s cheeks, then, and he wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Fine.  We...are compatible in bed, which is always nice.”

“He’s also so beautiful that you can’t look directly at him,” Ian added with glee. “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”

“Me neither,” Leliana said, nodding.

An odd look crossed Zevran’s face but it was so brief that Ian couldn’t begin to decipher what it meant.  Instead, he stretched his arms up over his head and yawned.

“Anyone fancy going for a walk?  I think Meat’s gettin’ antsy.”

“Sure,” Zevran said a bit too quickly.

Leliana shrugged. “I may as well.  It has been some time since I have been of use.”

Ian flung his arms around their shoulders and brought them close.

“Excellent!  Camp rogues going on an adventure--fuck yeah!”

Leliana laughed and wriggled under the weight of his arm.

“Sometimes I forget that you are a teenager as well, Ian.  Youthful exuberance…”

“‘Scuse?” Ian asked, trying to sound offended. “You’re maybe two years older than me, Lels.”

“And I am older than you both.  Now let us be off.”

Zevran smoothly got out from under Ian’s grasp and got to his feet.  He was acting odd, he thought.  Very different from the smooth image he had been given of the assassin.  He figured it had something to do with Theron and that blush he had seen color his cheeks earlier but Ian also figured that it was none of his business.  Although maybe on their walk, he could try to come up with ways to distract him from whatever gross love feelings he was getting.

\--

Kierin was in that cavern again.  That split in the earth that teemed with Darkspawn.  It was empty, though, and he had the feeling that he wasn’t truly there--or as there as one could be in a Warden nightmare--but simply lost in a dream.  He walked a bit through the cavern, his hands trailing against the rock walls.  There was the Taint, bubbling and diseased, clinging to the walls but his hand ghosted right through it.

His ears picked up the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him and he whirled around, ready for a fight.  He reached back for his sword only to find that it wasn’t there.  Right, this was a dream.  Having his sword would be too easy.  In front of him was that elf from before.  The one who had given him a warning.  He figured it was him, at least.  He had the same face, coloring.  The way he sort of looked like Theron only not.  His hair was down this time, though, and Kierin noticed that it was short around the top and almost jagged around his face as if he cut it himself with a knife.  It was long, though, and draped over his shoulders down almost to his waist.  Kierin had studied the Keeper’s scrolls and paid enough attention to know that that hairstyle was particular to Dirthamen and those who considered him their patron Creator often styled their hair as such.  Theron never did but, then again, no one did anymore.  Only people like him who pored over any scrap of history they could find knew a fraction of the old ways and that included hairstyles.

“Dirthamen?” he asked, voice cracking.

The elf snorted a very inelegant laugh through his nose and shook his head.

“Not at all.  I’m mortal.  Or was…” He flapped a hand dismissively. “I haven’t much time.  What do you know about the Darkspawn?”

He thought back, quickly, to what Alistair had told them.  He buried his annoyance for the shemlen’s awkward, stilting manner of speaking to parse what this elf could mean that was important.

“...Need an Archdemon for order…live in the Deep Roads...actual origin unknown...a hivemind--”

“There.  That.”

Kierin frowned. “The hivemind?”

The elf nodded.

“The Darkspawn at all times can hear each other and the Archdemon.  This extends to previous Archdemons as well.  That is, the current Archdemon shares memories with the last.”

“...Alright…”

He honestly had no clue what he was babbling on about.

“The previous Archdemon was an empty vessel after I defeated it but this one, it remembers me.”

Kierin blinked at him for a moment, soaking that in.  He...defeated the last Archdemon?  That could only mean that he was speaking to…

“Garahel?!” he exclaimed.

He exhaled and said, “Oh good.  You finally figured it out.  Yes, I am Garahel.  And this is a problem.  You see, before I became a Warden, I had a family.  Which means I have descendants.  Descendants who left the Anderfels for Ferelden and took a family name: Mahariel.”

Kierin felt as though he had been punched in the stomach.  Now he understood Garahel’s vague resemblance to his Clan mate.

“You mean...Theron is a direct descendant of you?”

Garahel nodded.

“The Archdemon knows this.  And because I was the one to slay it, I know too.  We’re linked, you see.  Unfortunately…” He made a face that was surprisingly juvenile. “The Archdemon knows that it is going to be slain by one of you but it is imperative that it is not Theron.”

“Why?”

He began pacing, wringing his hands.  The longer parts of his hair flew behind him in the imaginary dream wind of wherever they were.

“Because with my blood in him, the blood of a Warden who has ended a Blight, it...will not die.  It will latch onto him and use him as a host.  To continue the Blight.”

Kierin knew, then, that was why Theron kept having dreams about the Archdemon reaching out to him.  Why he saw that in his dream before.  That thing was trying to ingratiate itself in his mind.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you can stop it.  You’re the best at protecting him, aren’t you?”

He didn’t mention that Theron currently wasn’t speaking to him.  He just nodded.

“Good, Kierin.  Oh, and...wake up.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Kierin found himself back at the camp they had set up en route to Redcliffe.  He took in his surrounding quickly.  Maeve was at the fire.  Devyn and Alistair were curled around each other asleep not too far from it.  Cassan sat near Maeve, poking at the fire with the bottom end of her staff.  Near him, Theron lay sleeping.  He was on his stomach, hair all in his face, some sticking to the corner of his mouth with drool.  Kierin looked at him and bit the inside of his cheek.  His lazy, vain Clan mate was being groomed to be the host of the Archdemon.  And he had been chosen to keep this from happening.

Kierin flopped back down on the ground and decided that, right now, all that needed to happen was for him to go back to sleep.

\--

Alistair could see the spinning blades of the Redcliffe windmill in the distance and he felt his anxiety mount.  His secret was going to be revealed.  There was no way that the others would look at him the same way once they found out.  Oh, there was a chance that it wouldn’t be brought up but that was just wishful thinking.  He glanced down at Devyn walking beside him and it made his chest tighten.  How would he see him once he knew?  Not just with hearing the truth but that Alistair hid it from him?

He stopped abruptly on the sloped road on which they were traveling.  Devyn walked a few paces past him before he realized he was stopped and turned around, a concerned look etched on his face.

“You alright?”

His question brought the attention of the others and they stopped as well.  He felt their gazes on him: Maeve’s placid and waiting, Kierin’s judgmental, Theron’s bored, and Cassan’s wry.

“I have something to say,” he said, a bit too loudly.

“Yes?” Maeve’s eyebrows went up in prompt.

Alistair sucked in a deep breath.

“I know that it’ll probably come up when we get to Redcliffe so I want you all to know...I lied.” Oh, that sounded terrible.  He had to recover quickly. “I mean...I lied about what I said to you all before about...look, you know how I said Arl Eamon raised me?”

“Yes,” Devyn said at the same time that Theron said, “No.”

“Well he did that because...my father...was King Maric.”

There was a brief silence among the others before Theron broke it.

“I thought his name was Cailan.”

Alistair sighed.

“No.  Cailan was Maric’s son.  Which...sort of made him my half-brother…”

Once again, the others looked at him in silence.  This time Maeve was the one to break it.

“Why did you keep this from us?”

“...I’ve always been an inconvenience.  I mean, I know I’m a commoner.  There’s been no doubt about that my whole life and...well, people tend to coddle me.  Duncan would...I just prefer people not knowing.  Because then they judge and the, uh, whatever.” Alistair exhaled upwards, feeling miserable. “But it’ll be brought up.  There.  Now it’s out in the open and we can go to Redcliffe and meet the Arl.”

“If he’s alive,” Theron said blithely.

Alistair felt his blood freeze in his veins.

“If he’s...what?”

He shrugged and idly reached to mess with one of the braids in his hair.

“Oh, I heard some knight in Lothering talking about the Arl dying or something.”

“What?!”

Alistair couldn’t believe he had been keeping this from them.

“Yeah, Loghain had him poisoned or...something.  I dunno.  I was more interested in getting a bath in the Chantry.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?!” he demanded, a bit more angrily than he usually would have.

Theron had the audacity to shrug.

“I thought we were seeing ‘Eamon.’  I didn’t know ‘Arl’ and ‘Eamon’ were the same person until we started going here.”

Maeve looked at him with her stern face.  She looked about as mad as Alistair felt and he was grateful for that because it meant that he wasn’t overreacting.

“Theron, you still should have told us.”

To Alistair’s surprise, he threw his arms out and let out an exasperated yell.

“Fine, yeah!  Everything is my fault!  I get it!”

He turned on his heel and stomped down the slope.  The quick movement caused the ends of his hair to fly out and whip Cassan in the face but he didn’t bother to even apologize.  Alistair wondered what his outburst was about but he was still too mad about him withholding that information about the Arl to give it much thought.

“I didn’t know they were the same either,” Kierin said.

Alistair sighed to try and expel his anger and felt a hand slip into his.  He looked down to see Devyn grinning up at him cheekily.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing...my prince.”

His anger was almost immediately replaced by embarrassment.

“I’m going to regret telling you this, aren’t I?”

\--

Zevran sniffed at his clothes discreetly.  He could still smell Theron’s scent on him: at once floral and woodsy.  It was almost intoxicating.  He let his arm drop.  So his scent seeped into the leather of his armor and so he was smelling it a little.  It meant nothing.  Theron was gorgeous and good in bed.  That was all that mattered.  He also happened to smell good and Zevran was enjoying that.  He most certainly wasn’t going down that path again.  Not like…

He squeezed his eyes shut to silence his mind.  Even still thinking about it hurt.  What he had to do was concentrate on...this leisurely walk.  Alright, it was not the best distraction.  Instead, he focused on how Ian looked as he walked.  This human lord exuded charm, he thought.  To Zevran, he wouldn’t make a half-bad Crow despite his rather large, definitely not sneaky size.  His leather trousers tugged at his rear and the differences in their heights allowed Zevran a pretty decent view to it.  A niggling voice in the back of his head whispered about how Theron’s was nicer but he ignored it.

“You like what you see, yeah?” Ian glanced backwards at him, eyebrows cocked in question.

“Maybe.”

“Y’wanna hook up when we get back to camp?”

Zevran was surprised.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.  Morrigan and I aren’t exclusive and I take it you and Theron aren’t either.”

Happy for the distraction, he put his hands on his hips as he walked.

“You know, I am used to doing the seducing.”

“And I’m not coy.” Ian turned and began walking backwards, his hands folded behind his head. “So you wanna fuck or not?”

Zevran smiled.  He knew he liked this human for a reason.

“Certainly.”

Further up ahead, he could hear Leliana scoff.

“Meat, I think you and I are the only civilized ones here.”

The dog barked in what Zevran presumed was agreement.  He then crouched down and let out a low, sinister-sounding growl.  Ian jumped back around, his hand already reaching for his bow.

“What is it, boy?”

Meat’s ears flattened against his broad skull and, to Zevran, it was amazing to see the dog transform so quickly.  His own ears pricked, suddenly attune to shuffling up ahead.  Bandits, perhaps.  From the treeline up ahead, a great armored Qunari burst through, wielding a maul.  Not bandits, then.  Meat sprang on coiled muscles.  He landed solidly on the mercenary, pinning him to the ground.  After that, the rest of the fight happened with a blur.  Zevran dimly remembered cutting off someone’s head with a backhanded whirl of his blade.  One of their armed attackers at one point had tackled Ian down and stomped on his left wrist, causing him to howl in pain.  Before Zevran could get to him, Leliana had already taken care of the assailant.

When he fought, he kind of zoned out until he was done.  It was probably something that came with killing being second nature to him.  He didn’t come back to himself until he was done.  It wasn’t until Leliana was shouting did his vision clear and he found himself on top of a small hill, knives ready to kill the armored man he presumed led this little brigade.

“Don’t kill him!” she cried.

“What?” Ian demanded. “They ruined my shooting arm!”

He was cradling his injured wrist delicately in his other hand.  Leliana shot him a look and Ian clammed that giant mouth of his up but not without scowling like a child.

“These were not common bandits,” she explained and directed her gaze to the armored man standing before them. “You aren’t, are you?”

The man shook his head.

“Nah.  We were tasked with killing the redhead girl, s’all.  Didn’t know you’d have two assassins and a bloody war hound with you.”

Meat panted happily at the title, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

“Assassins?” Ian balked. “How am I an assassin?”

“You did kill all of the men in your family’s castle,” Zevran pointed out.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t paid to do it.”

Leliana seemed to distressed to pay them any mind.  She stepped forward, eyes wide and mouth set in a thin, tight line.

“The redhead girl...you mean me?”

Her hands fluttered to her bluntly cut hair.

“Aye.  But we didn’t count on this.  Just...let me go.”

“Who sent you?”

“Didn’t get the name.  Some bloke in Denerim, I reckon.  Please, can I just go?”

Leliana didn’t spare them a sideways glance as she threw her arm out in a sweeping gesture.

“Fine.  Go.”

With a clank of his armor, the mercenary disappeared into the trees.

“We should have killed him,” Ian said.

“No.  There was no need.”

“But it could have been fun, no?”

Leliana let out an exasperated sigh and turned to them both.

“There was.  No need.”

She stopped and closed her eyes.  She took in a deep breath and folded her hands and placed them against her chest.  Zevran presumed she was praying to the Maker for His help in dealing with the two of them.  She opened her eyes and let her arms drop to the side.

“It’s Marjolane.  I’m sure of it.”

“Whojalane?” Ian cocked his head to the side like a dog.

“I am unfamiliar with this person as well,” Zevran said.

Leliana flitted her eyes between them before answering.

“Right.  I only told the Wardens...Marjolane was...she taught me in the ways of the bard.  She betrayed me and left me to die but I got away.  Now I assume she wants to bring me to her.”

There was more she was not saying but Zevran’s fingers itched with the desire to kill something so he let it pass.

“He said the note came from Denerim,” he said. “We should go there?”

“If that’s alright.  I...I need to confront her, I think.  If she found me once, she could find me again and I refuse to let her hurt any of you.  I need to…” She trailed off and glanced away.

Ian narrowed his eyes slightly and looked at her.

“You two used to fuck, didn’t you?”

Immediately, Leliana’s cheeks flushed bright red.

“If you mean we were lovers then yes!  But...ugh, you are so vulgar!”

She hit him on the wrist and it caused him to let out a howl of pain.

“That is what you get Lord Ian.”

Zevran chuckled.  Despite her religious posturing, Leliana was just as bad as the rest of them.

\--

Kierin tromped down the hill, cursing under his breath each time he felt his boots sink into the mud.  Walking down steep hills in plate armor and carrying a heavy sword was a terrible idea that he would never recommend to anyone.  Theron walked ahead of him as surefooted as always.  Then again, he wore a lot less than Kierin did.

“Don’t feel bad about the Eamon thing,” he said once he caught up.

Theron turned his face away and hitched his shoulder.  Kierin scowled.  So he still wasn’t speaking to him.  Fine.  He supposed he deserved it.  Still, it had been days.  Theron usually didn’t hold a grudge this long.

“Thero…” He tried the nickname again. “Come on.  No one’s really mad.”

He turned to face him, then, but Kierin wished he hadn’t.  His eyes were narrowed and his mouth was twisted in a scowl.

“No.  I mean, I guess I’ve betrayed the team like I’m betraying Tamlen, right?”

“Lethallin…”

Kierin sighed.  He wasn’t cut out for this.  This comforting business.  He had hurt Theron and he didn’t know how to make it right.  He had to make it up for him and not just because Theron’s ancestor had apparently come to him in a Warden dream and demanded he protect him.  He wanted to make it up for him.  Theron was the only friend he had both before and after they had become Wardens.  Imagining a life where he hated him and refused to speak to him was a bleak possibility to say the least.

He gently reached out and placed his hand on the crook of his elbow.  Theron looked down at it as if it were diseased.

“Lethallin,” he whispered. “Listen...ma abelas.  I shouldn’t have said that about Tamlen.  If you’re with Zevran that’s your business.  It isn’t...I know you miss him.  And I know it hurts you.  It was uncalled for.”

Theron’s disgusted look cleared his face and a sliver of a smile appeared.

“Ma serannas, Kee.”

He leaned forward and kissed his forehead before continuing his loping, skipping path down the hill.  For the strangest reason, the spot where he kissed was tingling.

\--

“Let me have a look.”

Leliana held her hand out patiently.  Ian glowered and clasped his injured wrist to his chest.  She rolled her eyes.  Honestly.  It was like dealing with a child.  His wrist looked ghastly, though.  It was swollen and red.  Part of her was selfishly thinking that he’d be of no use in confronting Marjolane with his shooting arm injured but most of her was just worried for his safety.

She gingerly took his wrist in her hand and pulled a kit from her pouch.  She reckoned it would do to get down the swelling and stop any potential breakage.  Leliana had no idea what was in these kits but it had to be some kind of magic.  She figured it fell under “serve man” though, and thought nothing more of it.  It at least would give Ian usage of his arm.

He held his arm out tentatively and rotated the wrist, this time only wincing a little.

“I’m good,” he reported.  He turned his gaze to her and Leliana was surprised to see intense his eyes were.  The usual mirth was gone. “Are you?”

“I…”

Was she?  It was a good question.  Was she ready to see Marjolane after two years of avoiding her and trying to make a new life?  What was worse is that she felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach at the thought of confronting her.  No, of putting an end to her.  What was wrong?  She had become a different person, a better person, right?  If she was, then why was she almost excited at the prospect of getting revenge?

“Lels?”

She snapped back to reality and saw Zevran and Ian looking at her curiously.

“I’m fine,” she assured them. “Let’s go find her.”

\--

Finding where Marjolane was easier than she thought.  Ian asked one person and they pointed to a building near the outskirts of the marketplace and said, “Some Orlesian flower set up camp there.”

“Don’t look surprised,” Ian said. “Fereldans have a sixth sense when it comes to Orlesians being here.”

Leliana nodded her understanding.  She remembered how Loghain had banned anyone with an Orlesian accent from even approaching the palace gates.  Zevran chuckled at his words and she figured that he had seen the same thing when he was brought in to be hired as an assassin.

The building where Marjolane was apparently holed up was little more than a house.  Not a hovel--Leliana could never see her ex-lover living in such conditions--but a modest house.  Greeting them inside were two armored mercenaries.

“Someone was expecting company,” Ian quipped.  He had his knives in both hands and was already parrying with one of their attackers.

“I pity to think what would have happened if we were simply delivering a package,” Zevran said back.

Leliana sighed.  Did everyone have to let fly little comments while they were fighting?  She decided to ignore her own propensity to cry out after a particularly good moment since she wasn’t doing it right now.  Either way, sarcastic comments or no, they managed to dispose of the mercenaries quickly enough.  Leliana stared at the door they were guarding, knowing Marjolane was behind it.  Taking a deep breath, she seized the handle and pushed it open.  Sure enough, there she was.

In two years, Marjolane hadn’t changed that much.  Her hair was worn differently.  The looping braids Leliana had tied in it were long gone and instead it just hung to her shoulders.  She was dressed in Orlesian finery and seemed to be unarmed.  Her face hadn’t changed, though.  The way her eyes scrutinized everything and the hungry set of her mouth.

“Oh, Leliana!” she cooed. “So nice to see you!”

Her voice was the same as well.  Part of it awakened a raw yearning in Leliana’s chest but mostly it just made her angry.  She remembered the mocking parting words Marjolane had given to her before leaving her for dead.

“We killed your guards,” Ian said and folded his arms over his chest.  

Leliana was made aware for the first time just how large and imposing he was.  Standing like that it was as though she had brought her own personal guard.  Zevran didn’t look half as intimidating but the blood decorating his face and neck was enough to put anyone off.

“They can be replaced,” she said airily, lifting a hand and waving it as though dismissing a particularly unpleasant odor. “And the assassins, well, they were a means to get you to me.”

Her eyes flashed and Leliana tensed.

“You could send a letter,” Ian said gruffly.

Marjolane’s eyes flicked to him and she frowned.

“Who is this?  Not your new lover--I am surprised you did not bring him.”

“My new...what?”

Her gaze was back on her and surprisingly intense.  It took Leliana a moment to realize she was jealous.

“The scrawny elf with the scars on his face.  I saw you with him outside the Pearl!”

She couldn’t help herself.  She laughed.

“You saw me and...Devyn?  He’s not my lover!”

She opted out of mentioning where Devyn’s affections lay.  They were none of Marjolane’s business.

“And you were spying on me?”

She scoffed. “I’ve been spying on you for two years.  Did you really think you could escape me?  Or fool me?  Playing the innocent Chantry girl.  Cutting your hair.  Hiding who you truly are.”

Rage built up in her.  Of course she thought it was all about her.  Leliana had been escaping her, not trying to trick her.  To do what?  She already had what she wanted, didn’t she?

“I can no longer let you live, Leliana.  Not with what you know about me.”

Zevran shuffled close to her and murmured in her ear, “Two mages behind the doorways.  More mercenaries behind them.”

She nodded discreetly.  So Marjolane intended to kill her and if Leliana let her go, she would hound her for the rest of her life.  No, this had to end now.

“Your call, Lels,” Ian said.

Leliana stared Marjolane right in the eyes as she spoke.

“Aim for the doorway to our right.  Zevran, the left.  Leave her to me.”

\--

Maeve watched the scene with bemusement.  She knew she probably shouldn’t be due to the severity of their situation but it was hard not to laugh.  Kierin had taken it upon himself to help one child in Redcliffe feel better and now they swarmed him, rushing up with their arms out asking that he toss them in the air.  Well the children needed a distraction from their dire situation.

The rest of them waited for the sun to go down.  Apparently this was to be the last showdown with the monsters that attacked the village night after night.

“I’m going to Denerim after this.”

She started at the sound of her cousin’s voice.

“What?”

Devyn sat next to her and unslung his axe from his back.  He laid it across his lap and shrugged.

“Alistair has a half-sister he wants to meet and...I’m going with him.  Just letting you know.”

“Alright…”

She studied his profile and frowned.

“Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You found out your lover is heir to the throne.”

Devyn shrugged again.

“It doesn’t change anything.  Not how I feel about him, at least.”

Maeve looked him over and her frown deepened.

“You don’t look well.”

“I’m tired is all.  Don’t worry.”

He did look tired.  Run down, too.  His eyes looked layer with the dark circles edging out into his scars.  She was tempted to leave him out of the fighting but she didn’t want to imagine the inevitable fight so she refrained.

“Nothing can be easy, can it?” he asked. “First the thing at the Dalish camp and then the Circle and now we have to fight an army of undead to figure out if we can even save the Arl.  It’s...exhausting.”

Maeve remained quiet.  The way his mouth slightly parted led her to believe he wasn’t done speaking yet.

“Alistair’s worried about him but...he’s been telling me stories about when he was raised here and the Arl treated him like garbage.  I kind of hope we can’t save him.  Teagan seems like a better man.”

“Devling…”

He shrugged again and got to his feet.

“I’m going to see if the mayor needs anything.”

Maeve cast a concerned look at his back as he departed.  Almost immediately the space he occupied was taken up by someone else.  She looked up at Alistair’s morose face and sighed.

“What is it?”

“Does he hate me?”

“Have you asked him?”

He looked away and said, “Yes.  He says he doesn’t.”

“Then he doesn’t.” She shrugged. “My cousin is a lot of things but a liar isn’t one of them.  I don’t think he could lie to save his own life.”

“Oh...huh.  I guess that’s right.  He’s pretty awful at it.”

“The worst.” Maeve allowed herself a smile. “Back home it’d always be ‘I wonder who was the one throwing stones at humans over the Alienage gates’ and Devyn’d always be like ‘ghosts did it.’  He didn’t even bother to blame it on Soris like Shianni did.”

She chuckled and was surprised that the story wasn’t met with the usual heartache and homesickness.  Maybe part of her knew that they would get back to them sooner rather than later.

“He’s something…” Alistair smiled in a dreamy way and looked to where Devyn was talking to Murdock in the center of the village.

Maeve didn’t bother to bring up what Devyn said about the Arl.  She figured it was between them.

“I never thanked you,” she said instead, “for what you did for him in the Fade.”

Alistair cut his gaze back to her and raised his eyebrows in confusion.

“That really happened, didn’t it?  That’s why going to Orzammar freaks him out.”

She nodded. “Small, enclosed spaces.  He can’t…”

Alistair nodded back in understanding.

“You know, I’m pretty sure I love him,” he said and he spoke slowly, deliberately as if trying to gauge her reaction. “I’ve never...felt like this for anyone before.”

Maeve watched him and tried to figure out how she felt about it.  She had no reason to distrust Alistair and maybe once, finally, Devyn had interest in a man that was actually good for him.  The last time that happened it was Alarith but her cousin had only been fifteen and the shopkeeper eventually let him go because of that.  Still, part of her was angry about it and she couldn’t figure out why.

“Don’t hurt him,” she said. “Or I’ll rip your intestines out and strangle you with them.”

Alistair’s eyes went so wide she was afraid they’d never get back to their regular size.  He swallowed nervously and nodded.

“Duly noted.”

Cassan came over to them, hands on her hips.  The usual snarl was gone from her lips, though, and for the first time Maeve saw her look as young as she was.

“Hey.  Stop sitting around.  It’s almost sundown.”

Maeve stood up to start giving out orders but saw that she didn’t have to.  Kierin was already ushering the children back into the Chantry and Theron and Devyn were waiting at the base of the first hill that led down into the village.

“I’ve never fought a horde of undead before,” Alistair said.

“Yes you did.  In the Tower.  Same thing,” Cassan said back.

“Right…”

Maeve led them all up the hill to Ser Perth and watched the sun sink out of the corner of her eye.  Here, in the hills, parts of the village got darker before others did.  Strangely, as they climbed up higher where it was already dark, she didn’t feel worried about any of them.  Not of them dying, at least.  The only thing on her mind was what they were going to do once the village was safe and they could see what was going on with the Arl.  Him being alive would make things much easier but it was up to chance.

Right now, they just had to focus on sending some dead things back to the Void.


	13. Chapter 13

Theron’s breath caught in his throat the moment the fog began rolling in.  He could hear the sound of torn flesh moving over clanking bones and his body shook.  The situation was different but all too similar.  In his mind, the sky opened up and rain began to fall.  The smell of death was already in the air, wet and dank.  Men were dying all around him and Duncan...no, not Duncan.  Tamlen.  Tamlen was bleeding out into his arms.

“Theron?”

The voice sounded far away and foreign.  Tamlen gazed up at him with black, empty eyes.  The roar of Darkspawn echoed with the rain and someone somewhere was crying.

“What’s wrong with this one?”

Another voice.  Just as strange.  He felt himself shake all over.  Undead.  Darkspawn.  Redcliffe.  Ostagar.  It was all the same.  Still, someone sobbed.  He couldn’t take it.

Reality came crashing down around him but still he could hear someone crying.  His hands, no longer holding Tamlen, went to his face and felt a wetness there.  He had been crying.  He looked up and realized that he had fallen to his knees.

The undead were not upon them yet but he could still hear them approach.  Which a shaky hand, he reached to pick up his bow that had somehow fallen to the ground.

“Theron?” The first voice that he now recognized to be Maeve’s.

“I…” He looked at their faces and everything began rushing around in his ears again. “I can’t do this.”

His hands went limp and his bow fell once more.  He took off, away from the hill where they were making their stand.  He ran into a dark, secreted corner of the hills where the skeletal frame of a boat waited to finish construction.  No one followed him though he was sure Kierin tried to.  For that he was glad.  He was an embarrassment to the Wardens and a poor representation to his Clan.  Not just weak physically but mentally.  This wasn’t Ostagar and he was a foolish child for confusing them--that was how he felt.  He was pathetic.  The others already thought of him as vain and shallow (which he was, admittedly) but now they thought him a coward.

He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them protectively.  More than anything, he suddenly wished that Ashalle was there.  Tears leaked out of his eyes and he let them fall.

\--

Devyn watched the others chase the scout down to the center of town by the lake where more undead were rising.  He figured they could hold them off without him for a moment.  He ducked into the shadowy nook where the two hills met, certain that this was where he saw Theron run off to.  Sure enough, he saw his hunched form against the grass and dirt of the makeshift walls.

“Theron?  Are you alright?”

“Maeve send you to scold me again?” His voice was shaky.  He mumbled something else that was unintelligible.

Devyn squatted in front of him.

“Nah.  I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

Theron didn’t answer at first.  He just hunched in further to him and shuddered.

“It was too much like Ostagar.  I…” He drew in a breath and said, “Everyone else handled it so well but I couldn’t...I can’t.”

“I don’t think they handle it better but--”

He whipped his head up and snapped, “No one else runs off in the middle of battle!  Just me!”

Devyn closed his mouth.  He probably wasn’t the best one to comfort Theron.  He wasn’t even at Ostagar, really.  Not in the thick of battle.  He and Alistair were in the Tower.

“No one else saw the King...Duncan…” He said something that sounded like another name but Devyn couldn’t pick it up. “But I can’t.  Not war.  Not battles like this.  I...I…”

He didn’t know what to say and so he said nothing.  Theron probably wasn’t really listening anyway.

“I didn’t tell anyone about the Arl and I can’t fight in battles like this.  Darkspawn, fine.  But this was too much.  Too much.  I’m already weak...”

This surprised him.  Theron usually spoke very highly of himself.  Devyn bit the side of his lip.  He couldn’t relate to what Theron was reacting to but the reaction itself was something at least similar to his own experiences.

“I know how you feel...sorta.  I’m terrified of going into the Deep Roads because I can’t deal with small, enclosed spaces.  I feel like it makes me a bad Warden.”

Theron chuckled darkly and said, “Duncan sure screwed himself over picking us as Wardens.”

“He didn’t have a choice.  You were dying and I almost went to jail.” Devyn considered it for a moment before adding, “And he probably didn’t think that everyone more experienced would die.”

He realized that his words were poorly chosen the moment they left his mouth but Theron laughed so he figured that he didn’t cause memories of Ostagar to resurface again.

“Shouldn’t you be with the others?” Theron asked.

“Yeah, probably.” Devyn looked at him and frowned. “You gonna be alright?”

Theron paused for a moment and then nodded. “...Ma Serannas, Devyn.  Thank you.”

\--

Dawn came and the fog crept back and, well, almost everyone lived and Alistair decided to count that as a win.  Murdock lived--and so did his moustache--and he clapped them all on the shoulder in turn.  He looked at the dead bodies littering the lakefront and something felt...off.

“Hey!” Cassan said in her usual way. “Where’s prettyboy to loot the bodies?”

Alistair shrugged and loped over to where Devyn was to drape his arm around his shoulders.  He knew that he knew where Theron was hiding but he didn’t let any of them know.  He glanced over at Kierin who was staring at Devyn intently.

“Here.”

Theron walked slowly over to them.  The usual hip sway was gone from his walk and he had his head hung.  Obviously, he was still ashamed for running off last night.  Alistair didn’t want to be mad with him but he couldn’t help but be slightly irritated.  Theron didn’t desert them.  He had...well, he’d had a bit of a freak out, hadn’t he?

“How are you doing?”

Maeve had her motherly face on.  The soldiers looked at him with disdain, probably viewing him as a lazy elf who deserted them and Alistair’s irritation swung towards them.  They had no right to think that.  They hadn’t been at Ostagar and they weren’t Wardens.  They didn’t get to think of a fellow Warden, his brother, like that.

“I’m...alright.  Ma abelas.  I--”

Maeve shook her head and strode over to him.  She put her arms around Theron’s shoulders and hugged him.

“There is no need.”

“Bullshit there’s not!”

This from one of the soldiers.  Alistair didn’t recognize him but, then again, he didn’t expect to.

“We lost good men while this prancy knife-ear runs off like the coward he is.”

Between the two Dalish, Alistair had long since deduced that Theron was the quick-footed, agile one.  That morning, he would possibly have to reassess that decision.  Kierin lunged at the man with such ferocious speed that, had he blinked, he’d have missed it.  He had the man up against one of the blockades they’d set up, forearm pinned to his throat.

“Kierin!” Maeve shouted.

“This is getting good,” Cassan muttered.  Devyn nodded in agreement.

The remaining Redcliffe soldiers glanced at Murdoch, unsure as to whether or not they should raise their weapons or not.

“You do not--speak to him in such a way, shemlen filth!” he growled out between clenched teeth. “Apologize!”

“Kierin!  Stand down!” Maeve demanded.

Kierin leaned in, flexing his arm as he pressed it further into the man’s throat.  Maker, he was going to kill him, wasn’t he?

“Kee, stop.  He isn’t worth it.” Theron’s voice was tired, small.

Almost immediately, Kierin relaxed and dropped his arm.  Still, he slit-eyed the man as he walked over to where Maeve still held Theron.

“Are you well, lethallin?”

He shrugged. “I’m no longer seeing Ostagar when I close my eyes, so…”

Murdoch cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“It must have been hard, surviving that.  I fault you none for leaving.  And neither do my men.”

He stared around at the remaining soldiers.  The one who had spoken rubbed his throat and nodded vigorously at the mayor’s words.  Alistair cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced at his fellow Wardens.  Both Maeve and Kierin were still on either side of theron who looked none at all like the narcissistic archer he had grown to know and like in the past months.  Devyn he still held under his own arm and Cassan stood off by herself, rolling her staff between her palms.  He glanced back up at Murdoch and pasted a grin on his face.

“So...ah...shall we get Teagan then?”

\--

Redcliffe wasn’t going to be easy for any of them.  When they met Teagan at the windmill above the village, Lady Isolde showed up with some sob story about her son.  Cassan figured it was possession but she wouldn’t hear of it.  Teagan agreed to run off with her to certain death at the castle entry and they would have to sneak in through the secret passageway under the windmill.  It was all very intense and Cassan didn’t care.  Inside the windmill, they ran into a snag.  The passageway was very dark and very narrow.

“No.” Devyn’s voice was firm. “I can’t.  No.  No.  No!”

He pulled back from the rest of them and stumbled over a stray pile of straw.  He fell back on his rear but if it hurt, he didn’t show it.  Maeve didn’t seem remotely surprised by his reaction and so Cassan figured that this was not a one time occurrence.  Alistair went to him and crouched down so they were at eye-level.

“Love?  I’ll be with you the entire time, alright?  And you can close your eyes because I’ll have your hand and guide you.  Alright?”

Devyn slowly nodded and put his hand out.  Alistair took it and drew him close.  Whatever the pipsqueak’s problem was, Alistair knew about it as well.  Cassan, being “learned” as Kierin put it, reckoned it had something to do with how tight and narrow the passageway was.  They brought up the rear and Cassan led the way since she was the only one who could bring a magelight to guide them.

“Don’t go pissing yourself and running off again,” she said over her shoulder.

She heard a noise that sounded like “myeh” from Theron and imagined he was sticking his tongue out at her.  Cassan decided that was good.  He was getting over it.  She didn’t know what he saw at Ostagar but if it was enough for the usually battle-hungry Theron to turn tail and run, it had to be pretty terrible.  The passage was long and, every now and then, she could hear a raspy whimper from the back of their party that let her know that Devyn still wasn’t happy.  What a crew they were, she thought with a twinge of humor.  

At long last, her magelight shone on a door and she felt along the worn wood for some kind of handle.  With luck, she found one of those as well.  It would be a damn shame if they came all this way and the door was broken.  The door emptied them out into what looked like a dungeon, which she figured meant they were in the bottom of the castle.  Cassan had never been to any castles but books always put the dungeons in the bottom.

She heard a commotion at one end of the dungeon and turned the corner to see a gaggle of undead surrounding one of the cells.  Someone inside was crying out.

“Go away!” A tendril of fire shot out between the bars but then dissipated.  A mage?  Isolde had said something about a mage, hadn’t she?  Truth be told, Cassan had ignored most of what she said.

“Wardens--”

Theron strode forward in one smooth motion, cutting Maeve off with the wave of his hand.

“Allow me.  I didn’t get to kill any of them last night.”

He drew his knives and lunged into the fray.  Cassan had to admit that he was poetry to watch.  She had less than zero attraction to men but she could appreciate Theron’s beauty both in and out of fighting aesthetically.  And, aesthetically, he was laying waste to that group of undead in no time.  He ended his slaughter by bringing his knives into an X above his head before wiping them on his tunic and sliding them back into his wrist sheaths.  He turned towards the cell and frowned.

“Hey, there’s a shemlen in here!” he called to the others. “And he looks about to wet himself!”

They moved over in an odd sort of half-connected rabble, still too used to keeping close in the passageway to pull themselves apart.  Cassan glanced around Theron to see that, yes, there was in fact a human in the cell.  He was filthy and half-starved, his dark hair stringy on his head.  His robes--he was indeed a mage--were in muddied tatters but she could still make out the blue and purple of apprentice robes despite it.  Her eyes traveled upwards to find his and her breath caught in her throat.

“Jowan?!” she exclaimed.

His eyes--haunted, starving eyes--widened with disbelief.

“Cassan?!”

“Introduce us?!” Theron cried, mimicking their astonished tones.  Cassan almost preferred it when he was shaking and sobbing.

She elbowed him in the side and then cast a sideways glance to the others.

“This is Jowan...the mage I helped escape from the Tower--after he _lied_ to me about not being a blood mage.” She glared at him.

“Did he lie to you that he wasn’t a blood mage or that he was?” Devyn asked.

She kicked him in the shin but her booted foot bounced off of the armor with a muted clang.

“Looks like you got yourself caught again, huh?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Jowan sighed and threw his hands up.

“Everything’s gone wrong!” he cried. “I...Templars caught me but Loghain freed me!  Said I’d be doing my country a service if I poisoned the Arl and then I did and then things started getting all...demon-y but I swear that wasn’t me!  I just got caught up in politics and now everything is out of control!”

He slumped against the side of his cell with a sigh and looked at them mournfully.

“Wait, you poisoned the Arl?” Alistair asked.

“At Loghain’s instructions,” Devyn said.  He stroked down his arm and looked him in the eye as if attempting to quell Alistair’s impending whiny tirade.

It worked and he backed down.

“Listen...Jowan, was it?  Do you know what’s going on?  Why were you brought here anyway?”

Jowan scrubbed his hands over his filthy hair and sighed once more.

“I was brought here to tutor Connor.  He had been...showing signs, you see.  Of magic.  Isolde brought me here in secret.”

“Connor?  A mage?  Does Eamon know?” Alistair asked.

“No, he...doesn’t do much with raising Connor.  That’s all Isolde.”

Devyn rolled his eyes and muttered, “Figures.”

Cassan briefly wondered what that was about but dismissed it.

“So...Isolde brought you here, you poisoned the Arl and now you think Connor...what?  Summoned demons?” Maeve cocked a brow.

“Not purposely, no.  But I believe he tore a hole in the Veil.” Jowan swallowed. “And gotten possessed by a demon.”

“Great,” Maeve deadpanned. “I suppose we can add ‘possessed child’ to our list of things we’ve encountered.  Let’s go, Wardens.”

She gestured over her shoulder to get them moving.  Jowan sprang and threw himself against the bars of his cell.

“Wait, you’re leaving me here?”

Alistair curled a lip in disdain and, with more venom than Cassan thought he possessed, said, “The blood mage who poisoned the Arl?  Yeah.  We are.”

Maeve held her hand up to give them pause.

“He could be useful.  Cassan?  You know him.  What do you think?”

Cassan stared at Jowan’s face long and hard, frowning.  She wasn’t sure.  Part of her wanted to bitterly leave him here for how he betrayed her but another part of her, a softer part, felt for him.  They all felt the oppressive chokehold of the Circle.  The scrutiny of the Templars.  Their abuses.  More than once, she caught them with their hands on her brother because they thought him defenseless due to his disability.  Jowan had tried to escape the only way he knew how.  She couldn’t fault him for that, could she?  She could almost hear Cousland in her ear, telling her to give him a chance to redeem himself.  Ugh, she regretted befriending that brute.

“...Prettyboy, unlock his cell.  Jowan, help but don’t get in our way.  Try to make up for all the shit you’ve done.  Got it?”

Theron’s deft fingers picked the lock and Alistair squawked indignantly.

“Are you serious?”

“Down, boy,” she said, moving her hands slowly as if talking down a dog.

The cell door opened and Jowan stepped out, stumbling a bit on his too-long robes.

“Thank you.  I...I’ll try to do what I can.”

They stared at each other for a long moment and she had no idea what to say.  Finally, the first words came out.

“Amell--uh--Tobias says hi.”

\--

Cassan felt her magic flicker and then die.  Angrily, she whipped her head to glare at the culprit.

“Watch where you’re smiting, Alistair!”

He had the gall to look at her sheepishly as he ran his sword into a shade.  Cassan backed up against a wall.  She had no magic and using her staff as a club would do her no favors.  She glanced down and saw that one of the undead they had felled clutched a sword in its decaying hand.  Through her battle-fogged mind, a memory came back: the vial in the ruins.  Mage and warrior.  Cassan grabbed the sword and swung it clumsily into a shade.

Alright, she was no swordmaster but she could fight without her magic and that was good enough for now.  The fight was over momentarily, though, and she now had nothing to do with this sword, no sheath at least.  She dropped it to the ground with the a clatter and drew back up her staff.  Idly, she wondered how Jowan was faring.  He was never a star pupil but, then again, he was a blood mage now.  Maybe now that meant that he could aim properly.

Moreso than Jowan, she wondered about the blacksmith’s daughter.  She hoped she got out safely.  That compassion surprised her.  She never was outright sadistic but Cassan had never really spared much thought to the others.  It was being with these five, she reckoned.  They changed her even if she didn’t notice until now.

“This is boring,” Devyn complained, drawing her from her reverie. “Undead, shades.  Oh, look, more undead--yay.”

He sighed dramatically and leaned against Alistair who looked...chagrined, almost.  Right, the Arl raised him or whatever.  This mission was a personal one for Alistair.  The others, it seemed, shared Devyn’s sentiments.  They all looked visibly bored.  Theron was braiding a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead while Kierin checked his teeth in the metal of his blade.  Even Maeve looked disinterested.  Everyone--that is, everyone but Alistair--was sick of being in Redcliffe.

“Well we’re in the castle proper now,” she tried.  The irony that she was the one attempting to buck up the others’ spirits was not lost on her. “We’re almost done.”

Devyn rolled his eyes.

“And what are we going to do when we find Connor?  Say ‘stop that’ and the demon will leave him be?”

Alright, she didn’t have an answer to that.  Devyn had a point.  What would they do when they found Connor?

“In the Circle,” she began, speaking slowly, “when someone was possessed…they’d…”

Kierin’s head snapped up from where he was examining himself and his eyebrows shot down in a glare.

“No.  We are not killing a child.”

Cassan closed her mouth.  Right, Kierin had a soft spot for children, even shemlen ones.  She vaguely remembered him saying that his parents died when he was young, before he had gone from his Clan to Theron’s.  Perhaps that was why he was so kind to children--his life had been difficult and he didn’t want theirs to be.

“We haven’t a lot of options,” Maeve said evenly, placatingly.

Kierin gave her a steely stare.

“Then we’ll find another.”

He turned on his heel and started down the hallway.  Theron let go of his hair and shrugged before following his Clan-mate away.  The rest of them had no choice but to follow as well.

\--

Kierin watched the still face of the mage and then flicked his gaze to Connor’s.  It had been Devyn’s idea to go to the Circle to get the lyrium needed to do a Fade ritual.  It had been he and Cassan who had gone.  Now it was a day later and they were back in the castle.  That decrepit corpse, Irving, had done the ritual and put a young mage who had come along under.  Kierin remembered him vaguely from the Tower and Jowan, who was cowering meekly in the corner, had greeted him with a hug.  Cassan had addressed him as Amell.

Off to the side, Teagan and Isolde stood with matching expressions of worry.  Isolde had almost been willing to give her life for Connor’s.  Kierin tried to picture his mother but her face grew blurrier and more far away with each passing year.  Would she have done that same?  Ashalle would have, he knew it.  If not for him than most certainly for Theron.  He was the only one of the Wardens in the room, now.  Cassan had helped with the ritual and was resting in one of the now thankfully not-possessed rooms.  Alistair, Maeve, and Devyn were in the Arl’s chambers where he lay comatose beneath the covers.  Kierin had seen the man and he wasn’t sure if it was the poison that had made him look so old or some issue shemlen had in their blood.  Theron was sleeping in another room.  Apparently he hadn’t slept since before the fight in the village.

Amell’s eyes flickered beneath his lids and they opened.  He sat up, groggy, hand to his head.  Next to him, Connor stirred but did not yet awaken.

“Tobias?” Irving croaked, sounding so close to death just as Kierin remembered him.

“I slew the demon,” he said, voice sounding tired. “Connor should awaken soon.”

He ran his hand through his overgrown hair and yawned.  Connor whimpered but still did not awaken.  Kierin was aware, suddenly, of Tobias staring at him.  He had these gray eyes that were strangely intense.

“What?”

“I saw one of you.  In the Fade.  One of you Wardens.”

That surprised him.

“Which one?”

“The one with the long hair...the other Dalish?  He didn’t seem to know where he was.”

That was...concerning.  Still, that wasn’t anything new.  Theron always talked about how he would sometimes wake up in the Beyond when he was dreaming.  He was just sensitive to it.  Still, it surprised him that Tobias saw him there.  He hoped it had only to do with his odd sensitivity and nothing to do with the Archdemon’s designs on him.  Shemlen said Darkspawn originated in the Beyond and if there was any truth to that, then maybe it was calling to him through it.  Still, this mage child didn’t need to know that.

“He does that sometimes.  It’s just a sensitivity.  His father was a Keeper.” Kierin cleared his throat and said, “I’ll get the others.  They’ll want to know this was a success.”

He left the room, taking great strides, glad to finally be getting out of this town.

\--

Leliana exhaled.  She had traveled back to camp with Ian and Zevran but had asked for some alone time.  They were happy enough to give it to her, since they apparently owed one another a booty call.  Every now and then she could hear a giggle or moan from Ian’s tent.  She sat at the fire, alone on watch.

Marjolane was...dead.  Marjolane was dead and Leliana enjoyed it.  She enjoyed killing her and ridding her from her life.  It wasn’t just relief in not having to look over her shoulder, it was the same thrill she got seducing a target and then running them through.  She could hide who she was behind prayers and piousness, but not from herself.  She was a Bard.  She liked the life.  The Maker damned her.

“Leliana?”

Her first instinct at hearing the voice was to lash out but, this was Wynne.  She didn’t want to be mean to her and, really, didn’t want to be scolded if she was.

“What is the matter?”

Wynne winced as she sat down but Leliana said nothing.  The older woman wouldn’t tell her her ails even if she asked.

“I...am a bad person,” she said.

“Oh?” Wynne’s eyebrows rose. “How so?”

“I killed my ex-lover and enjoyed it.”

Wynne turned a hand out towards the fire.

“And would she have killed you if given the chance?”

“Well...yes.”

“Then there was no wrong done.  You acted as you saw fit.  As for enjoying it, well, I would be lying if I said watching Devyn kill Uldric didn’t make me happy.” Her lips thinned and turned down. “You said you were once a Bard, yes?”

She nodded.

“And you...liked it?  And you hate that you like it still?”

“Y-yes.”

Wynne was remarkably good at reading people.  Leliana was impressed.

“Burying those feelings make them worse.  Do not revel in it but acknowledge it.  Accept it.”

Leliana let a smile ghost over her face.

“Thank you, Wynne.”

Wynne smiled back and laid a hand over hers.  From Ian’s tent came a long, sustained moan courtesy of Zevran.  Wynne sighed.

“Oh, my.  And I thought with Theron gone, we wouldn’t have to hear him.”

\--

Denerim was bustling when Devyn and Alistair arrived and, for that, it made him grateful.  Watching the people scurrying by could take his mind off the impending meeting with his sister.  Devyn smiled up at him and squeezed his hand.  He was glad he was with him.

“Um...what if we go find that Brother Genetivi fellow instead?  We decided to go find the Urn next, right?  That Isolde told us about?  Andraste’s Ashes?  Huh?  Huh?”

Devyn’s smile faded. “Alistair, it’ll be fine.  I’m here.”

He decided not to bring up that it was Devyn’s idea to go get the ashes first before going to Orzammar because he would do anything to put off going underground and Alistair couldn’t blame him.  He took a deep breath and stepped fully into the market.  His sister, Goldanna, had a laundering business so finding her exact address was easy enough.  The weathered, splintering door was now all that separated him from his sister.  A sign outside beckoned them to come in.  Devyn took the handle and pushed it and, yeah, that’d be best.  Alistair wasn’t sure if he’d be able to.

Inside the shop--house?--was poorly lit and a little dingy.  It smelled of soap but also feet.  He could see bags of clean and dirty clothes marked accordingly.  In the corner he saw a large bed and figured that she had to live here as well.

“What’d ya need?” A woman stepped out from a connecting room, wiping her hands on her apron.

Alistair swallowed thickly.  This woman--this had to be Goldanna.  His eyes roved over her face, trying to find any family resemblance but saw none.  Well, he figured, he looked like the King so maybe she looked like their mother.  He slipped his hand under his armor where he wore her amulet.  Devyn had found it in the Arl’s study, painstakingly glued back together.  Goldanna was still talking and he snapped back to what she was saying.

“--rob you blind.”

He cleared his throat and said, “No, uh, we don’t need any wash done.  What I’ve come to say is...I...think I’m your brother.”

“What?” She squinted at him, mouth curving down into a scowl.

“I...well, your mother, she was a serving girl at Redcliffe?”

Goldanna’s eyes flew wide with realization.

“It’s you!  The babe!  They told me you died along with mum.  Paid me off right good, too.  I said the babe was his and that they owed me more.”

Devyn’s forehead creased and he got that set to his mouth that usually meant he was about to go off on someone.

“Er--yes, well...that baby was me.  Hi.  Not dead.”

Goldanna threw her hands up and let out a bleat not unlike a sheep.

“Lot of bloody good that does me.  You come marching in here in your shiny armor, all the fancy prince, and expect what?  Some kind of family.  Pfft--I’ve got five kids that all need feeding.  Unless you’ve got gold, I’m not interested.”

Instinctively, his hand went to his purse but Devyn’s mouth beat him to it.

“Oh, sod off!  You act all self-important and accusatory like Alistair had a choice.  He was a baby!  He came looking for family and this is how you treat him?” He clenched his fists. “Sorry you have a persecution complex where you think babies are out to get you.”

Goldanna glared at him for some time.

“And who’s this?  A little knife-eared brat you hired to carry your riches?”

Alistair felt his temper flare.

“Don’t talk to him like that!  He’s a Grey Warden just as I am.”

“Ooh a Warden and a lordling.  You’ve made a name for yourself, haven’t you?”

“I’m not a--” Alistair sighed.  What was the point?  This meeting had already not gone at all how he’d planned.

Devyn, Maker bless him, grabbed his arm and began leading him towards the door.

“We’re leaving.  Have fun with your bitterness.”

He got him outside and Alistair slumped against the face of the house.  He felt...defeated.  No, miserable.

“Why did she call you a lordling if your father was King Maric?”

He shrugged.  He hadn’t even really been paying attention.

“That didn’t...I thought she’d just accept me as family, right there.” He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed.  When he opened them, the afternoon sun burned and made everything first appear as a dazzling purple. “I’m an idiot, eh?”

Devyn shook his head. “You’re not an idiot.  You just need to stand up for yourself more.  I can’t fight all your battles for you, Al.”

He nodded, numb.

“You wanna head back to camp?”

He started to nod but then shook his head.  He felt utterly defeated.

“You go.  I...need some time to myself.”

“Alright...be careful.”

Devyn rose up on his toes to kiss him and then turned to go.  Alistair meandered behind him, too lost in his own thoughts to really take care of where he was going.  Not just the meeting with Goldanna but what Devyn said about sticking up for himself.  He was right.  All his life, he did what others wanted of him.  Even Duncan.  When he told him to stay out of the fighting, he did with only a mumbling complaint.  Maybe it was time he stopped that.

\--

“Hey!  Dev!”

Devyn looked up to see Alistair rushing towards him.  He looked, well, excited and that was definitely an improvement over the last time he had seen him a few hours ago.

“Yes?”

He reached him and picked him up, spinning him around.  Devyn closed his eyes to avoid dizziness and didn’t open them until he set him back down.

“I was thinking about what you told me, and...you’re right.  I need to stand up for myself more.  Make what I want known more...readily.” He smiled awkwardly and it made his heart skip a beat.  Alistair was so earnest.  So sweet.  Better than he deserved, really. “Starting now.”

He drew him close against him and tilted his face up so he could look at him properly.

“With what?” he asked.

“I want you...I…” Alistair blushed and maybe he was starting to stand up for himself more but he was still Alistair. “Tonight.  Let’s spend the night together.  Please.”

A chorus went off in Devyn’s head.

“Sure!  Let me, uh, get something from Zevran first.  Meet me at my tent.”

He slithered out of Alistair’s embrace and went to where Zevran’s tent was.  He flicked his fingers along the flap and soon the assassin’s blond head emerged.

“Yes?”

“I need to borrow that bottle of oil you’ve got.  Ah…” He felt color rise to his face. “Alistair’s ready.”

A wide grin spread on Zevran’s face and he ducked back in.  Within seconds, he was back out, holding the half-full bottle of oil.

“Enjoy, my friend.”

Devyn closed his fingers around it and dashed over to his tent.  Alistair was already inside, taking big gulps of air.

“You’re sure you want this?” he asked.

If Alistair changed his mind, he wouldn’t press it.  He waited this long, he could wait a bit longer.

He nodded. “Yes.  I’m not sure of much else in all of this but I’m sure that you’re the best thing that’s--that’s ever happened to me.  And I’m ready.”

Devyn set the bottle of oil down and went to him.  He knelt down and began undoing the buckles of his armor.  Alistair followed suit, his fingers clumsy and unused to undressing anyone else.  They kissed long and passionately.  The “lessons” he had been giving him the past weeks had most definitely paid off.  He felt a fire there, then, that hadn’t been there before.  A mutual ardency between them.  He could feel that Alistair was hard in his smalls and, Maker, this was really happening.

They kept kissing as they got more and more horizontal on Devyn’s bedroll.  He kept Alistair on top of him, pleased with the comforting weight up against him.  Alistair was so warm, so solid.  He felt...good.  It was slow, working Alistair up to being ready for penetration.  When he was, he let out these puppy whimpers of mixed pleasure and pain and Devyn moved slowly against him.  He came quickly and kept apologizing between kisses.  When it was over, Devyn poured water from his canteen onto a rag to clean them both off.  As he swiped over his own groin, he looked up and noticed Alistair was crying.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, eyes wide.

He shook his head. “No.  That...that’s a good kind of pain.  It was just.  This was...I’d never...and this was.  Wow.”

He dropped the rag. “C’mere.”

Alistair came into his embrace and he curled against him.  He pulled his blanket over them both and wrapped his arms tightly around the other man’s torso, not wanting to let him go.

“I love you,” Alistair murmured. “I love you so much.”

Devyn felt a warmth spread through his chest as he said, “I love you too.”


	14. Chapter 14

“This is bullshit!  I refuse!  Refuse!”

Cassan stamped her foot petulantly and scowled.  She couldn’t believe this.  Irving had the nerve to do this!  Oh, sure, a hunter from that Dalish Clan had come and that whiny little Tomas from Redcliffe but this?  This was unfair.  This was ridiculous.

“We needed a representative from the Circle,” Maeve said plainly.  Her voice wasn’t even her lecturing placating tone and Cassan suspected it was because she was just too damn tired--and upset because half the camp heard Alistair’s first orgasm courtesy of her baby cousin--to deal with any of them.

“I.  Refuse!  Send him back!”

She pointed an angry finger at Amell who had his bangs lifted with one hand so he could blink his eyes curiously.

“Irving almost sent your brother,” he said.

Cassan stared at him blankly for a beat.

“Fine.  Amell can stay.”

Maeve sighed and walked off and Cassan shook her head after her.  She was still rather put out that Teagan had put up this idea of having those with whom they’d already recruited be in their camp.  She really didn’t want to be reminded of Redcliffe or the fun with werewolves at the Dalish camp.

“I’m so glad I meet your approval,” he said drolly. “And it’s Tobias.”

Cassan wasn’t used to him having a spine.  Back at the Tower, he was constantly hiding behind his hair and mumbling things into Jowan’s shoulder.  Jowan...she wished she could do more for him than just open the gate and tell him to leave.  It went against everyone's decided judgment but she didn't care and, somehow, it still didn't feel like enough.

“...How is...rebuilding?”

Amell shrugged and hugged his chest with both arms.  His hair flopped back into his face, obscuring his eyes.

“Fine.” He tipped his head to the side and added, “He’s fine, Cassan.”

She cleared her throat and looked away.  Alright, maybe she had been a little worried about Castor.  He was a blood mage, after all.  In the wake of Uldric’s attack, she didn’t want him becoming a target.

“Oh.  That’s good.”

With her head turned, she was able to make out a shape coming towards them from the firepit.  Eager to change the subject, Cassan beckoned him over.

“You should meet Ian,” she told Amell.

Ian ambled over, a smirk already on that comically wide mouth of his.

“Who’s this?” Ian’s eyes roved over Amell’s skinny form and she saw the smirk deepen. “I’m Ian.”

“T-Tobias.”

Cassan slipped away and let them get to know one another.  She knew that Amell had about as much experience as a rock when it came to sex but if Ian could charm his robes off, it meant she didn’t have to talk to him as much.  Still, it was nice having a healer in camp other than Wynne.  There was something...odd about her that made Cassan worry.  She hadn’t truly seen her in battle outside the Tower but there was something off--a tickle on her tongue whenever the older woman did magic--that made a flag rise.  She glanced over to her tent and decided that perhaps some investigative work was in order.

She crept around the back, hoping to remain unseen.

“Hello, Cassan.”

The fact that the voice that spoke wasn’t Wynne’s startled her more than anything else.  Even more, she felt foolish for acting so childish.  She stumbled back and hit the speaker right at the waist.

“Hey, Sten,” she said back, trying and failing to fight back a flush to her cheeks.

He stared at her for a long while before speaking.

“You are very strange.”

He turned and walked back to his tent at the far end of camp.  Cassan watched him go, silent for a moment.

“Same to you!” she shouted at his retreating back.  To herself, she added in a sarcastic tone, “Good one there, Cass.”

\--

Ian left Tobias tripping over his words at the supply crate the mages brought along and wandered down to the edge of the lake.  Unsurprisingly, Theron was there.  He seemed to gravitate to the body of water whenever they were in camp even if he wasn’t bathing.  He sat on the smooth bank of the lake, making arrows.  Ian leaned against a tree and watched him, curious.  The way Theron was making arrows was different from how his mother taught him.  He coiled the feathers in a spiral as he tied them.

“Is that a Dalish thing?” he asked.

Theron sat up and Ian could see the muscles in his back flex almost defensively.  He turned his face, half looking at him through a curtain of hair.

“Yes,” he said finally.

Ian nodded and eased up off of the tree.  He drew closer, coming around Theron’s front.  He picked up one of the arrows and raised it to eye-level.  The arrowhead was carved, recently it looked like.

“It’s not ironbark,” Theron said, frowning. “But it’s alright.”

He put the arrow down.  Something was up with Theron.  He seemed...down.  Sad, almost.

“Are you alright with it?” he asked.

Theron’s brows rose. “Alright with what?”

“Me having slept with Zevran.”

A strange look passed his face.  Hot was the only word he could use to describe.  Angry, really, but not quite.  More of a smoldering look that marred his exquisite features.

“I wasn’t aware you had.” His voice had gone from melancholy to measured, controlled.

Ian bit the inside of his cheek.  The last thing he wanted was to find himself in some kind of love triangle.

“Sorry,” he said. “Zev said you weren’t exclusive so--”

“We’re not.  I...it’s fine.”

Theron’s eyes almost glazed over and it was like he slipped on a mask.  A slow, easy smile spread on his face and he reached out to stroke Ian’s shoulder.

“Morrigan and now Zevran, huh?” he asked, voice at a purr. “I wonder what’s so special.”

He was surprised by the change--a third in just a moment--but he didn’t dwell on it too much.  He didn’t really know Theron, after all.

“I’m good at what I do,” he replied.

He leaned in and dropped his head, hair tumbling down to hang over his shoulders and in his face.  His hands went to the collar of Ian’s traveling leathers and, through the veil of hair, he caught his sage-colored eyes staring intently into his.

“Show me,” he said huskily.

\--

Zevran knew he had no right to be jealous.  After all, he had slept with Ian first.  But when he heard Kierin ranting angrily to a disinterested Devyn about Theron and Ian, he felt it.  The coil of the green-eyed monster wrapping around his insides.  Tightening.  Choking.  He felt foolish.  It was no business of his whether or not Ian and Theron fucked--though Zevran was moderately impressed at the rate at which the Lord was going through their camp--and yet he was jealous.

He neared the campfire pit where Maeve was holding court.  She had a map of Ferelden rolled out on a stack of books he presumed were Devyn’s.

“We’ll go find this Brother Genitivi in Denerim first,” she said, jabbing a finger at the parchment. “I’d like to send some people to Orzammar but, judging by the distance, it should wait.  We don’t know what will happen when we look for the Ashes…”

He waited patiently for her to finish.  With her was her cousin and Alistair--the two were rarely apart these days.  Alistair seemed to constantly have a blissed out look on his face, which Zevran attributed to the sex he was finally getting.  Kierin squatted near her, arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face.  Cassan was nowhere to be found and neither was Theron.

“Hello.” He stepped into the circle to get their attention.

Maeve gestured behind her towards the lake.

“Where else do you think he is?” she asked.

Zevran leaned forward in a half-bow before turning and heading towards the lake.  His quick pivot allowed him to avoid the fire being shot from Kierin’s eyes.  Honestly, he figured that what he needed was a good fucking.  It would do him wonders to relax.  Maybe he could convince Theron to convince him to take a jaunt to the Pearl.  Or, really, Zevran would be happy to volunteer.  Mostly.  He frowned at himself.  He was getting odd again.

At the lake, afternoon sun glinted off of the water’s surface, almost blinding him as he approached.  Theron sat in the shade of the tree, legs thrown out in front of him and hands behind his head.

“What is with you and the lake?” Zevran asked, perhaps a bit grumpily.

“I like water,” he replied. “Our Clan always stopped near somewhere with a water source and I’d always volunteer to fetch water.  It was the only chore I ever did.”

He snorted in laughter, imagining young Theron as lazy as he was as an adult.

“Don’t laugh,” he said, chuckling himself. “It was the only chore they’d let me do because of my health.”

“Ah.”

Zevran drew close to the tree, shivering under the shade it offered.  The blinding sun aside, winter was coming stronger and stronger each day.

“I heard you slept with Ian.” He didn’t know why he said it.  Yes he did.  That coiled snake inside his body, squeezing him tighter and tighter.

“Yeah, so did you.” He supposed he deserved that.  Theron shrugged. “I’d never fucked a human before.  Thought it’d be fun.  It was.  Big deal.”

That wasn’t the only reason he had come, truly.  Not his jealousy and not that Theron and Ian had had sex.

“I also heard about Redcliffe.”

His body stilled and he stared, fixated, out at the water.

“Everyone has.  Sten lectured me already about abandoning my post…”

Zevran saw the pain in his eyes, the tightness of his mouth.  He was still hurting.  Every time he saw Theron is was as though he peeled back another layer on him to reveal more.  For someone who claimed to be shallow, he was...startlingly complex.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said.

\--

It was quiet in the forest.  Quiet, at least, except for the other forest sounds.  Theron looked at home here.  He walked with his hands out, palms brushing the foliage.  A smile was on his face different from any Zevran had seen before.  It wasn’t the easy, seductive smile he flashed so often but something softer, sweeter.  Sunlight came through the leaves, leaving a dappled shadow on his face.

“Ostagar was hard for you,” Zevran said.

The smile faltered and, for a moment, he thought the fake one would return.  Instead, his mouth shifted to a neutral expression and he nodded.

“I had never seen death like that,” he said quietly. “No one had ever...in my arms.”

He held his arms out and looked down, gaze blank.  Zevran didn’t say that he knew what that was like.  Watching someone bleed out in front of you.

“That and...Tamlen.” Theron sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever find him but I still hold out hope.  He was my first love.  The first person to want me not just...desire me.”

He inhaled deeply and looked back at the leaves.  Zevran could see that.  He put up such a good act of being shallow and nothing more than a pretty face that it would take more for someone to get past that carefully crafted facade and see what was underneath.

“But that’s over.  Tamlen is dead.  And I will be too in thirty years--leaving a beautiful corpse for spiders to feast on in the Deep Roads.”

Zevran drew up next to him and frowned. “I’ve heard you say that before--talking about your looks when you’re upset.”

“If I get nervous or sad, I go back to vanity.  When I’m that low, all I have is my vanity.” He smiled ruefully and added, “And my looks.”

He laughed, surprised at the joke.  Theron laughed too and rested his head on Zevran’s shoulder.  Without thinking, he put his arm up to wrap it around his shoulders, hugging Theron close to him.

“It’s weird.  I feel safe with you.” Theron looked out into the leaves. “I say ‘weird’ because you tried to kill us.”

Zevran chuckled and nodded his head.

“What was it like to be an assassin?” he asked. “Tell me about your adventures.”

“My adventures?  You make me sound like an old man…”

Theron nuzzled on his shoulder and shrugged.

“You certainly talk like you’ve had adventures.”

That was true.  Zevran tried to think of one of his missions but one popped into his head.  A voice begging him, a voice choked with tears.  Hands reaching out to him.  He closed his eyes to attempt to will the image away.

“Let me tell you about the time myself and the other Crows assassinated the Prince.”

“Ooh, really?  A prince?”

Zevran moved his hands in circles on Theron’s back as he recounted the tale of his less than successful part of history that ended with him naked and robbed by street urchins.  The story got a laugh out of his Warden and that warmed him more than he was willing to admit.

“What about you?  What adventures did you have before becoming a Warden?”

Theron’s face grew contemplative for a moment.

“Hmmm...when we were fledglings, these humans got really close to our camp.  So we had Merrill trip them with roots--she’s a mage--and then me and Tamlen and Kierin jumped down and scared them so bad that they dropped all of their belongings and ran.  We just took them--they didn’t even realize we were children!”

He burst into laughter after that.  Loud, clear laughter.  Zevran smiled.  It was a cute story.  He tried to picture Theron younger, a child, but the image wouldn’t come.  He looked at him out of the corner of his eye, highlighted by the sun and swallowed thickly.  He really was beautiful--the most beautiful person he had ever seen--but he was more than that.  Seeing the open way he shared the story, the layers of grief he hadn’t worked through...it was a new side to him.  Zevran kissed him on the top of his head.  Theron lifted it and kissed him back on the lips.  He turned so the angle was better and he could rest his hands on Theron’s waist.  They kissed again, this time more deeply.  Zevran let his lips trail down from Theron’s and kissed down lower and lower until he got to his leather leggings.  He pressed his mouth against his groin and blew hot hair against it.  From above, he could hear a soft moan.  He gently bit one of the laces and began to pull it loose with his teeth.

“Zev…”

He pulled a bit more, undoing the tie.  Theron stilled all of a sudden and he paused.  Confused, Zevran lifted his head.

“What?”

Theron put a finger to his lips and glared into the foliage.

“Something’s out there.”

Zevran sat back, disappointed.  Trust Darkspawn to ruin a good thing.

“Is it Darkspawn?” he asked.

“No.  An animal.”

Theron crossed his arms to grip the handles of the knives he kept in his wrist sheaths.  Zevran sighed and reluctantly reached into his boot for the knife he kept there.  Through the trees and brambles and bushes that surrounded them, something emerged.  Something large and brown.  Zevran was amazed both at the fact that something that large could be that sneaky and that Theron had heard it.  At the sight of the animal, Theron released his hold on the knives.

“A bear!” he exclaimed, suddenly giddy.

“What?”

“A bear!”

He rushed to the beast and stared it straight in the eye and, yes, Zevran had heard this of the Dalish--particularly their hunters.  Their way with animals.  The bear, if it had been willing to attack them, seemed to relax.  It lifted one paw and held it out.  Theron pressed his palm against it, fingers spread.  Zevran got to his feet, amazed.  Without warning, Theron threw his arms around the bear’s neck and let out a loud squeal.

“It’s so cute!”

“What?” he repeated.

Theron stopped hugging the animal and turned to him, smiling broadly.  This was a new smile--a full-up, energetic, beaming smile.

“My patron Creator is Dirthamen and the animal with which he’s associated is the bear.” He gestured to the tattoos on his face. “These are for Dirthamen.”

“Oh.”

The bear let out a low rumble and bent forward on its thick legs.

“What is it doing?” Zevran asked, suddenly worried.  He slipped behind Theron, holding onto his shoulders.

“It’s allowing us to ride it.  Come on!”

Theron pulled away from him and swung himself up onto the beast’s shoulders, straddling its wide neck.  Zevran nervously took there, eyeing the bear.  It was so large and imposing and he was so small and easily breakable.  Theron looked at him and held his hand out.

“Come on!” he insisted.

His insides melted.  He took his hand and allowed him to be pulled up on the back of the bear as well.  He realized then that he would do anything if it got Theron to smile like this, so unashamed and bright.

But it wasn’t love.  No, he refused to admit that, even to himself.

\--

Maeve stuffed the map back into her bag and let out a sigh.  Leading the Wardens, making plans, it was hard.  She remembered when her daily life was household chores and making sure Devyn didn’t piss off the wrong people.  She yearned for the days in the Alienage, suddenly, and wondered how those at home were doing.  She couldn’t believe that she had gone so long without thinking of them.  There was just so much going on that she hadn’t spared a thought to her family.

“I’ll do better,” she said to her pack. “I promise.”

Rising to her feet, she looked around camp.  She noticed that the others present were already looking towards her.  Right, of course, she was the leader.  She was still getting used to that.

“Cousin, you’re going to Denerim to see about this Brother Genitivi.” Maeve took in a deep breath and added, “Alistair, you’re going as well.  And Theron...when he gets back.”

Devyn smiled and turned to face Alistair because, of course, he was in arm’s reach.  Maker, since the two of them finally consummated their relationship--she had to have set her tent up next to theirs and Alistair just had to be a screamer--they were rarely apart.  Still, her strange, unexplainable resentment of their coupling aside, he made her cousin happy and, more than anything, she wanted him to be happy.

“The rest of us will wait here.  When they return, we’ll make our next move.”

That seemed to satisfy the others.  Now if Theron could get back from wherever he was, things could finally, maybe, go smoothly.  As if on cue, a loud thundering could be heard from the surrounding forest.  Maeve didn’t feel the internal alarm that signified a Darkspawn attack and frowned.  A bear burst from the treeline, running on all fours.  She didn’t even have time to react, not even time to reach for her weapon, when the animal came to a stop.  Sitting atop its shoulders was Theron and clinging to Theron’s back like his life depended on it was Zevran.  The sight made her laugh.  Theron looked impeccable as always and was now leaning down to hug the bear around the neck.  Zevran looked dazed, his masterfully done hair a complete and utter wreck that resembled a blond bird’s nest more than anything else.  Kierin came up next to her and sighed.

“I’ll tell him to put it back.”

“You make it sound like he does this often.”

Kierin shrugged and said, “Only with bears.”

That explained, at least, why Maeve hadn’t seen him do it before.

“Why bears?”

“Dirthamen.”

She had no idea what that meant but, as usual with Kierin, she didn’t want to press too much and make him mad.  Kierin made his way over to the bear and held his hand out to Zevran.  The other elf slipped from the bear’s back and more or less collapsed on top of him.  Theron, meanwhile, slid down gracefully and nuzzled the bear’s cheek.  He looked soft, somehow.  His eyes were closed and a gentle smile was on his face.  Tension she hadn’t known to be there was gone and he looked at peace.  He turned and saw Kierin, red-faced with embarrassment, pinned under a woozy, dizzy Zevran and started laughing.

“You are all incredibly odd,” Sten said, coming up behind her.

She didn’t even have an argument for that.

\--

“Do you really think Andraste’s ashes could cure Arl Eamon?”

Alistair waited for an answer, for reassurance, but got nothing.  He frowned.  Devyn had been acting odd since they started for Denerim.  He wasn’t talking much, for one, and when he did, it was usually to Theron.  He began to wonder what he had done wrong.  Could it be that Devyn was done with him now that they had slept together?  A pit of anxiety formed in his stomach at the thought.  He swallowed nervously and began gnawing on his lower lip.  He had seemed excited to be told to go to Denerim with him but now, with how he was acting, it left him guessing.

“Devyn...can we talk?”

Theron was the one who looked at him, blinking his eyes.

“I have to piss,” he said and walked off towards a crop of bushes.

Alistair wondered why he had to announce it like that but realized a moment later that he meant to give them alone time.  Devyn glanced at him and then down at the scuffed leather boots he always wore.

“What’s wrong?  I mean, you just seem so...I dunno.” He wished he was better at speaking, Maker how he wished he was.

Devyn glanced up and stared at him in that way that was always weirdly intense.

“Do we have to revive the Arl?” he asked.

“What?  Devyn--what are you saying?”

He pushed some messy hair out of his eyes and sighed, a whistling sound that came out his nose.

“I’m saying that...Teagan seemed like a decent guy.  We saved Redcliffe...I don’t see why we have to do all of this for something that only might heal him or might not even exist!”

That felt strange to hear.  Devyn was a huge believer in things that might not be real.  He constantly talked about ghosts, for Andraste’s sake.

“It’s out of the way,” he insisted. “It could take weeks and Loghain is getting more power and support.  We don’t even know if Brother Genitivi will be in Denerim--or if he’s even alive!”

“Arl Eamon is the only one who can call the Landsmeet,” Alistair said.  He clenched his jaw to keep a tight rein on his emotions. “We will need all the support we can get.”

“Which we can get--from Teagan.” He stared at him boldly and Alistair felt himself take a step back. “I’m being pragmatic.  This quest is a waste of our time.”

Alistair heard a loud shout come from somewhere in his chest and out his mouth.

“The Arl is NOT a waste of our time!  I owe him!  I owe him, Devyn--you don’t understand!”

An odd expression crossed his face, one Alistair didn’t get.

“We can get support,” he said, “from someone who’s not comatose.  We should focus on that because do you know who we have?  We have Ian.  And Ian isn’t in charge of anything right now because Arl Howe is.”

“Reviving Eamon will get us support.  I know it will.  You don’t understand politics, Dev.”

He rolled his eyes, “Oh, and you do?  Eamon kept you in the stables and then carted you off to a monastery when he got sick of you.  How does that leave you more politically aware than me?”

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to form a coherent thought.  Mostly, he just couldn’t believe he was hearing this.  Not about his childhood but how he worded it--how he treated Eamon as the villain.

“This very well could be a waste.  We should just go to Orzammar.”

That did it.

“Really?  Orzammar?” Alistair demanded, “You’ve been putting off Orzammar since this started because you’re too afraid to go underground!”

“I am not afraid!” he shouted.

He couldn’t stop himself now.  The words came rushing out too fast for him to even think about keeping them in.

“Yes you are!  You’re afraid of being shut in because you can’t get over something that happened to you when you were a kid!”

The tips of Devyn’s ears went so red they turned purple and matched his eyes.  Oh, Maker.  Oh, no, he had said too much.

“Oh, go fuck yourself Alistair,” he growled, voice low. “Because I won’t be doing it anymore.”

He turned and stomped off, continuing on down the Imperial Highway.  Theron emerged from the bushes and came up to Alistair.

“Are you two done arguing because I’m done pretending to have to take a piss.”

Alistair ignored him and rushed after Devyn.

“Wait!”

He caught up to him easily, his legs being so much longer, and put his hand out towards his shoulder.  He let it hover there, though, not touching him.  Devyn stared at the ground and said nothing.  He wanted to fix things as soon as he could before the wound he’d just open could fester and he’d lose him entirely.

“I was out of line,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that…”

He looked up, and Alistair saw that he was crying.

“I thought you were different,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry.  I got defensive.  I…” Alistair wanted nothing more than to wipe the tears from his face but he didn’t dare touch him. “I love you.  You’ve made...everything bearable.  I don’t want to lose you.”

Devyn stared at him, not speaking.

“Alright,” he said, voice still a bit shaky. “And I was out of line, too.  We’ll go find the ashes, or whatever.”

Alistair exhaled and held his arms out.  Devyn came into them and rested his head on his chest.  He held him tightly against him, not wanting to let go and realizing how close he had just come to losing him.  Maybe he could even try something a little suggestive.

“You can punish me for what I said later.”

What he got in response was Devyn’s signature raspy cackle.

“Maker’s cock, you are so bad at dirty talk.”

\--

Cassan sat outside Wynne’s tent, feeling like a child.  Those games they would play back in the Circle when they were very small, before she decided she wanted--needed--to be better than anyone else.  A few of the apprentices would sneak around, trying to spy on enchanters and templars, finding out their secrets.  She remembered Castor being there because he could listen the best, block out the sounds and concentrate on what they were saying.  Before the other kids grew old enough to make fun of him because he couldn’t see.  Jowan, too, would creep around, and he was small, almost as small as her and Castor, and he could get into little hidey-holes.  Jowan...she wondered where he was.  Teagan had said he was to await Eamon’s judgment but Cassan had gone down to the dungeons and set him free.  Told him to run.  Why had she done that?

She snorted to herself.  She knew why she did that.  She knew what judgment he would receive.  A maleficar who poisoned the Arl?  If not execution then tranquility, a fate worse than death.  She hadn’t told Amell yet even though she knew he was wondering.  He stood awkwardly by the crates, wrapping himself in a blanket over his cloak.  Amell was always really susceptible to the cold.  His family wasn’t from Ferelden.  Somewhere up north where it was warmer, and the winters less sharp and bitter.  Maybe she should go over there, say something.

“Cassan?”

The voice startled her from her reverie and made up her mind for her.  For some reason, she thought if she turned, Amell would suddenly be behind her, questioning her about Jowan.  The thought was only a flicker once the voice registered in her mind.  Cassan swallowed nervously and turned around, knowing she was blushing up to the tips of her ears.

“Hey, Morrigan.”

Morrigan had never ventured this close to the main campfire before.  Furthermore, she was coming to speak to her.

“My mother’s grimoire...do you remember it?”

She nodded, realizing that, yes, Morrigan would have to talk to her about it since no one else knew that Cassan had lifted the grimoire from the Tower.

“I...have found something in it that is quite...disturbing.”

“What is it?”

“How my mother prolongs her life.  She has a daughter and, when it is time, she takes her body.”

That sounded...wretched.  Cassan only vaguely remembered meeting Morrigan’s mother in the Wilds, for the treaties.  She had given her an odd impression, though.  A slidey sort of fear.

“Morrigan that’s…” No, she wouldn’t want sympathy. “What should we do?”

Her eyes flickered for a moment when she said, “Kill her.  Cassan, will you kill her for me?”

Her breath caught and Cassan faltered.  Yes, she had killed many times during this entire quest but it was different.  Bandits, assassins, Darkspawn, werewolves...those who were attacking her.  Morrigan’s mother was a different story.  This was just what Morrigan had told her, as well.  Hadn’t her mother, like, saved pipsqueak and Alistair from the Tower of Ishal?  Still, Morrigan looked...genuinely scared.

“Of course!” she said.

“You...you would?” Her voice was almost tentative.

“Yes.  We’re...well, you’re my friend.” Her face heat up.  Maker, this was embarrassing.

Morrigan slid her gaze to the side and, just for a moment, she looked different.  Vulnerable and frightened--and almost sheepish.  Then it was gone, and her face was smooth, unreadable.

“You need not go alone.  I just cannot accompany you.” Her mouth twisted in a way and she added, “Thank you.”

Cassan dipped her head and watched as Morrigan went back to her tent.  Not go alone...shit, who could she even take?  There was no way she could go herself.  She was the best spirit mage around--take that, Castor--but she couldn’t face Morrigan’s mother.  She was a powerful, ancient abomination.  She could have probably convinced Theron to go, if he was here.  She doubted that she’d have that luck with Kierin.  He and Maeve were the only ones still at camp and she was obviously out of the question.

In the distance, she heard the sound of a bowstring being released followed by a muted thump of something hitting wood.  She followed the sound to the outskirts of camp.  Ian stood shirtless and sweaty, shooting arrows into a target pinned to a tree.

“Hey, hamhead,” she said by way of greeting.

Her lowered his bow and tossed his head to get some brown hair from his eyes.  He smiled his lazy, easy smile that could charm everyone but her.  She knew, though, that he wasn’t trying to charm her.  That smile was just his natural state of being.

“What’s up?” he asked.

She explained the plan to him as he put his bow down and went to fetch his arrows.  She watched him pull them out of the tree, one by one, and saw that it wasn’t truly a target pinned to the tree but a drawing.  It was of a man who looked...like a weasel.  The drawing wasn’t remarkably well done--she suspected Ian drew it and he was no artist--and done with harsh, sharp strokes.

“Who is that?”

A funny look crossed his face and, in one motion, he ripped the picture from the tree.

“Arl Howe.”

It occurred to her how much he had to be hurting after what happened to his family.  Even so, she had no idea how to approach it or make him feel better in any way.

“So...will you help me kill Morrigan’s mom?”

He shrugged. “Sure.  I wasn’t doing anything else today.”

\--

The sun was high in the sky, burning brightly behind a thin veil of clouds.  The marketplace was crowded and Alistair kept ducking his head to avoid being noticed.  Somehow, out in the wilderness, he had forgotten that they were all wanted.

“Calm down,” Theron said, rolling his eyes. “You’re drawing more attention to us.”

Alistair ignored him and went behind Devyn, hunching down his shoulders to appear smaller.  Theron snorted a laugh.  Alistair was a good foot taller than Devyn and twice as wide.  He’d have an easier job hiding behind a lamppost.

“Stop it, love,” Devyn said.  He stepped to the side to eliminate Alistair’s paltry hiding spot.

Alistair huffed and folded his arms.  Still, he looked far too nervous.  Theron decided just to ignore him, then.  They had a job to do anyway.  The quicker they found out what this Brother Genitivi knew then the quicker they could get back to camp.

“Anyone know where he lives?” he asked.

Alistair and Devyn exchanged a look and then looked back at him and shook their heads.  Theron sighed.  This would take longer than he thought.

“I’ll ask someone.”

He strode towards the tables set up in a circle in what he figured was maybe a marketplace in the center of the city.  Cities were confusing.  Huge and intimidating--closed off.  He saw a woman examining silks in a stall and moved into her line of sight.  He put on his best charming smile.

“Aneth ara,” he said sweetly. “I was wondering if--”

“Dalish!” she shrieked.  Clutching her hand to her chest, the woman jumped back. “He’s trying to rob me!”

Theron furrowed his brow. “What?  No I’m not!”

The shopkeeper gave him a stern look.

“You better move out, knife-ear.  Go prance in the woods with your thieving kin.”

Anger flared in his chest and Theron grabbed the handles of his knives.  He’d show this shemlen shitstain “prancing.”  The lady who accused him, too.  A pair of hands came down on his shoulders.  He jerked his body, ready to slash at whoever grabbed him, until he smelled the familiar musky dog smell.

“Sorry about that,” Alistair said with an awkward chuckle. “We’ll be on our way.”

He began steering him away from the stall and Theron glared over his shoulder.  The lady was still staring at him, clutching at her jewels as if he were going to rip them from her neck.  No, the only thing he desired to rip from her neck was her head.

“So much for being inconspicuous,” Alistair hissed in his ear.  His breath smelled hot and meaty.  Ugh, how could Devyn stand kissing him?

“I was trying to be!” he exclaimed, “I said ‘hi’ and that lady started screaming that I was trying to rob her!”

Devyn came up next to them and nodded.

“Humans are mostly assholes--especially nobles.” He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Theron scowled.  The only humans he had really met and actually spoken to at length were those in camp.  And the only noble he’d really known was Ian--Alistair didn’t count--and he wasn’t at all like that woman in the stall.

“Now what are we going to do?” Alistair asked, his voice at that annoying whiny pitch that was all too similar to the sound Meat made when Wynne wouldn’t allow him to have any scraps from dinner.

Devyn frowned for a minute but then his face cleared as he got an idea.

“Follow me.”

He trotted across the marketplace and Theron and Alistair had no choice but to follow him.  Luckily, giving chase to him meant that Alistair let go of his shoulders.  Devyn came to a stop in front of a man dressed in chainmail.  Theron shrank back a little.  This was his plan?

“Hey Kylon!” he said with a broad smile.

The man chuckled a bit, his stern face twitching into a slight smile.

“It’s sergeant,” he chided. “And hello, Devyn.  I see you brought other Wardens with you, this time?”

This time?  Devyn had had a run-in with him before?  Theron shrugged inwardly.  They seemed to be on friendly terms, though, and he reckoned that he’d have heard about it if he’d gotten in any trouble.

“Yeah.  We’re looking for Brother Genitivi--important Warden business.  You know where he is?”

Kylon stroked his chin with a gauntleted hand and frowned.

“I believe so...he lives in the market district at least.  Stopped him from walking headlong into mercenary territory a few times since he didn’t look up from his book.”

His dark eyes narrowed a measure and went over the three of them.

“Actually...do you three mind doing me a favor?”

Devyn grinned and said, “It depends.  Do I get to beat people up?”

Kylon smiled in return and Theron saw Alistair’s shoulders hitch up a measure.  He smirked and elbowed him in the side.

“Somebody’s jealous,” he whispered.

“Shut it, Theron,” he hissed back.

“The Crimson Oars are menacing the folk at the Gnawed Noble Tavern.” He gave them a wink and added, “Lethal force is authorized by the guard captain.”

“Neat!  We’ll be right back!”

Devyn turned and headed off towards where Theron reckoned the tavern was.  He seemed to know his way there without even looking.

“Who’s that?” Alistair asked.

“Hmm?  Oh, Sergeant Kylon.  He’s got our backs, don’t worry.” A faint blush colored his cheeks and he added, “He would walk me home when I was too drunk to make it back to the Alienage by myself so I kinda owe him.”

Theron saw Alistair’s shoulders lower and rolled his eyes.  Shemlen were so predictable.

\--

Taking care of the Crimson Oars was a nonevent.  Devyn was almost disappointed that there wasn’t any bloodshed.  They walked back into the main room of the tavern amidst all of the nobles drinking and talking as if nothing had even happened.  He rolled his eyes.

“Figures” he mumbled.

Humans, particularly rich humans, were the worst.  They made him think of Vaughan, someone he hadn’t spared a thought towards since leaving the Alienage.  The Gnawed Noble was nice, though.  Nicer than the taverns near home.  Home...his chest gave that familiar ache.  He was still barred from entering the Alienage--why?  What was going on there?  What was happening to his family?

“...Running the city into the ground.”

His ears pricked as he picked up a thread of noble conversation.  He held up a hand to get Alistair and Theron to halt and inched closer.

“What can you do, though?” this from a woman with cropped hair wearing leathers. “He’s got his lips firmly suctioned against the Regent’s arse!”

Her companion snorted very un-noble-like into his drink.

“Alfstanna, please…” He waved a hand and wiped ale from his whiskers.

Devyn slid up and put on what he hoped was a charming smile.  He knew, though, that he generally just looked threatening when he smiled, thanks to his scars.

“Who are you talking about?” he asked sweetly.

Rather than scream at him or shoo him, the woman--Alfstanna--turned to him.

“Arl Howe.  Comes into Denerim and declares himself the Arl.  Bad enough he’s Teryn of Highever, too…”

“Howe’s the Arl of Denerim?” Alistair asked incredulously.

Devyn frowned.

“What happened to Arl Urien?”

“Died at Ostagar,” said Alfstanna’s companion. “And with his son dead as well…”

Devyn coughed awkwardly and looked towards the ceiling.

“Yeah…”

Alistair shook his head and let out a low whistle.

“Howe’s got more titles now...Ian’s not going to like that.”

In unison, both of the nobles turned to look at them.  Alistair let out a yelp and clapped a hand over his mouth as if knowing he had spoken too much.

“Ian?  Ian Cousland?  He’s alive?!”

Theron spoke for the first time.  He smirked and tossed his hair back with the shake of his head.

“I’ll say.”

Her companion’s lips curled up slightly under his bushy mustache, catching onto the innuendo.

“Sounds like Lord Ian, alright.”

Alfstanna scrutinized them with narrowed eyes.

“How do you lot know Lord Ian?”

“That’s a good question,” Devyn said.

Without another word, he turned and left the tavern.  Theron and Alistair dashed out after him.

“That was...interesting,” Alistair said. “We found some stuff out and we managed to get through a task without Devyn hitting people or Theron seducing them.  I’m counting this as a win.”

Theron rolled his eyes and, as they walked towards Kylon to deliver the news, began braiding a section of his hair.

“That’s odd about the former Arl, though...he died at Ostagar and his son’s also dead?  Wonder how that happened...”

Devyn took a deep breath and looked away.

“Oh, I dunno.  Probably got run through by a greatsword in his chambers after his friends were also killed.”

He could feel Alistair frown next to him.

“That’s...oddly specific.”

He knew he had to come clean now.  Devyn wrung his hands and bit his lower lip.

“Well…y’know how me and Maeve were conscripted by Duncan, right?  To get out of going to jail?”

He nodded.  Theron just kept on braiding his hair, not caring in the least.

“Well...the reason I was going to jail was for killing Vaughan--the Arl’s son.”

Alistair’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

“You what?!”

Devyn sighed and said, “Keep your voice down.  He crashed my wedding, kidnapped the brides, Maeve, and my cousin Shianni.  He...looked, he deserved to die Alistair.  He was going to rape and kill our women and your shemlen guard would do nothing.  So we took justice into our own hands.”

“I...suppose so.”

Devyn exhaled.  He didn’t want this to be dragged on with them.  Not so soon after their fight, anyway.  Part of that still bugged him, honestly.  Eamon seemed to be destined to be a sore spot in their relationship.  He just recalled Alistair’s stories: sleeping with dogs, being shipped to a monastery, and it was just awful.

“Come on,” he said instead of bringing it up. “Let’s just go see Kylon about this and then find out about Brother Genitivi.”

“Good,” Theron said huffily. “I’m getting fucking tired of this city.”

\--

“What was it like in that cage?”

Ian didn’t really expect Sten to answer but he had a bad habit of never staying quiet.  He had to fill the void with endless questioning, endless meaningless conversation.  Cassan seemed to be determinedly marching forward to Morrigan’s mother’s hut--he hoped she remembered where it was--and wasn’t much for conversation.  He really wished that she’d let this infatuation with Morrigan go.  It was going to be the end of her, really, and there were plenty of ladies who would be interested in her--well until her ego reared its head.

“What do you expect me to say, human?”

Ian considered the surprising reply and said, “Nothing.  Anything.  I don’t know.  What did you do for thirty days?”

Sten’s lips quirked like he was about to make a joke but then turned down once more.

“There was a girl,” he said, “a human girl.  She would walk from Lothering to her house on the outskirts and, every time she passed, she would duck her head and look away.  One day I asked her why.  She said that the family I killed, the daughter had been her friend.  She said if she looked away, she would not say the mean things she wished to say.  I asked her what they were and she said nothing and then ‘my brother’s gone to Ostagar.  If he were here, he’d know how to insult you.’  And then she left.”

Ian took this in.  It wasn’t an answer to his question but it was the most Sten had said in his presence and, judging by the surprised look that just fleeted on Cassan’s face, hers as well.

“Why’d you kill that family?” he asked, pressing his luck.

Sten looked towards the horizon and replied, “I was weak.”

He knew that, for now at least, he wasn’t getting anything more out of him.  Cassan paused and held her hand up.

“It’s here,” she said.  Her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned down.

Ian was confused.  “Here” was nowhere.  He thought that they would at least have to walk through the Wilds and face throngs of the Horde, deal with dastardly blight wolves or vanquish some ancient demons or something.  This was too close to the Imperial Highway, through a copse of trees.  Furthermore, he didn’t even see a house.

“Where?”

“I feel it.”

Had to be a mage thing, he figured.  Sten said nothing, his face remote.  Cassan moved a clump of branches and then, there was the hut.  An old woman stood outside of it, her face relaxed, expression almost bemused.  Worse, he got a shiver down his spine, she looked to be expecting them.  As they drew nearer, he saw that she shared the same cheekbones and pointed little chin that Morrigan had.

“Hello again, dear Cassan.” Her eyes flicked over them and a smile settled on her lips.  It was odd--one Ian couldn’t quite place.  Like the smile a spider would smile if they had proper mouths. “I see dear Morrigan has found someone to dance to her tune.”

Cassan’s expression remained surly but she said nothing.  Morrigan’s mother’s eyes fused on him, then.

“And you, my dear boy--you shouldn’t bury the anger,” her voice was gravelly, melodious. “Let it soar like those arrows you do so well to shoot.”

A heat flared in Ian’s chest.  The way she said it, it was so simple.  As if he could march to Denerim and disembowel Howe himself right now.  As if he could live his life angry and hurting, void-bent on revenge.  Blocking out all else on a singular goal.  That was what it had been like those weeks lurking in the hidden passageways of his home.  The corridors and nooks and crannies only he knew, hiding and picking off Howe’s men one by one.  Letting his rage and grief consume him.  It was easier now, in the presence of other people, to mask it under layers of jokes and innuendo.  Of sleeping around and pretending to be how he once was.

“Meaning?” he asked.  He crossed his arms and lifted an eyebrow.

“Meaning you should watch yourself and make sure you do not end up like the snake you seek.” Her eyes were boring into his soul.

It took him a moment before he caught on.  She was referring to him turning on the others in favor of getting his revenge on Howe.  Ian swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.

“We aren’t here about this.” He jerked his head to the side as if that motion would physically push his thoughts away. “We’re here about stone cold murdering you to stop this weird body-snatching trick.”

“Oh?”

Her eyebrows rose.  Cassan nodded.

“Yeah.  Morrigan told us how you extend your life, Flemeth.  And I--er--we need her.  So we’re helping her out.”

Cassan fumbled with her words, color rising to her pale cheeks.  Flemeth’s lips twitched again and Ian knew that she knew exactly why Cassan was so eager to help Morrigan.

“I notice that one keeps silent,” she said, turning her attention to Sten. “And so, for him, I will return the favor.”

Sten grunted but said nothing and, true to her word, Flemeth didn’t follow up with another cryptic warning about the past or future.  Instead she held her arms out at her sides as if welcoming them.

“Now, do what you came to do.”

She began glowing purple and Ian took a step back, his hand already reaching for his bow.  Bright light erupted from where Flemeth stood and he let out a cry as the intensity of it forced him to close his eyes.  He opened them and blinked rapidly, trying to remove the after-images.  His vision began to clear and he saw that where Flemeth had once stood was now an enormous purple dragon.

“Shit.” He heard Cassan’s voice echo with his own.

“I was not aware Morrigan’s mother could become a dragon,” Sten said wryly.

Ian unslung his bow and shook his head.

“Thank you, Sten, for that observation that helps nobody.”

Cassan let out an angry squawk.

“Just concentrate on killing the dragon!”

Ian curled a lip but decided not to say the obvious: that was easier said than done.  His archery was second to none and Cassan was pretty handy with her magic and Sten--finally getting to show his mettle in battle--was terrifying with a sword but this was a High Dragon.  This was a High Dragon and they were an elf, a human and a Qunari.  They were the set-up for a bad joke to be told over too many pints.

Still, if he didn’t want to die--and this was not the literal hill he wanted to die on--he had to act.  He notched and arrow and aimed for Flemeth’s head.  It flew true (annoyingly so considering her earlier comments) and got her in the eye.  She roared angrily, spitting purple electricity out towards them.

“Why?” he asked. “Why does the dragon do that?”

Cassan shot back with a bolt of magic herself and then jumped back.  Partially blinded, Flemeth swung her head wildly on its long, snake-like neck and met with Sten’s sword.  Flesh ceded to metal and a very large dragon head slammed down on the ground, away from the body.

“Oh.”

Sten wiped blood from his blade and sheathed into the scabbard on his back.

“It is done.”

Cassan looked a bit disappointed and she sighed.  Ian decided to tell Morrigan that she was the one who killed her mother.

\--

There was something suspicious about Weylon.  He dodged their questions and seemed perturbed when Devyn was eagerly rifling through the books on the table--his desire to read them apparently trumping their actual mission.  Theron took it as further grounds not to trust him when he smelled blood on the other side of a closed door.  Things grew more suspicion that when he mentioned the room and the smell, Weylon tried to kill him.

It mattered not now.  Weylon--who wasn’t really Weylon--was dead.  Then again, so was Weylon who really was Weylon, which was kind of a pity since he hadn’t done anything but be Brother Genitivi’s assistant.  They also now had a map that would lead them to a town called Haven, which to Theron, was just a bad sign.

“I’ve heard of it,” he’d said as they left. “Our Clan camped at the bottom of the hills where it was and...it was weird.  Local shems chased us off before we’d even stayed a full night.”

Even so, they were setting off in the morning and he had no say in it.  Instead, he slept, not having to take watch because everyone still treated him like glass after Redcliffe.  He wondered how long that would last.  That coupled with the time he was found wandering naked in the woods meant that he would probably be watched and coddled for some time.  And, as he slept, he began to dream.

It was that cavern, the Darkspawn cavern, deep deep underground.  The crevice teeming with the monsters.  Yet, they didn’t attack him.  He moved through them unseen, drawing no attention to himself.  Then, there it was.  The Archdemon.  That great, purple dragon with its spikes and dead, dead black eyes.  It welcomed him, drawing him to its chest, tail snaking out to wrap around him.  Its wings came around him like an embrace.

Theron closed his eyes and sank into the darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

This was the room he had not entered since coming back to Denerim from Ostagar.  Anora had been in there, he knew.  The door was near the throne room and he heard her slip in, heard her almost crying through the wall.  Always almost.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his daughter cry.  Even at Maric’s funeral, she held a sobbing Cailan and looked ahead, gaze fixed, like the future queen she was.

Loghain pushed the door open quietly and closed it behind him just as silently.  The nursery was the same as from when Cailan moved out of it.  Books were everywhere, some face down, permanently bent, and others open, showing their jewel-toned illustrations forever to the world.  He stopped in the middle of the room, remembering all the times he had come in here to find Maric on the floor with Cailan rather than in the throne room or his chambers.  Maric...what would he say to all of this?

“Good question.  What would he say?”

The voice, though mocking, was familiar.  Loghain spun around and saw no one.

“Over here, uncle!”

He turned again and, perched on the purple velvet chair was Cailan.  It wasn’t quite the young man he had seen at Ostagar.  The gold plate was gone, the sword, even how his hair was styled.  The Cailan sitting crouched on the back of the chair resembled him as a teenager.  Coltish with messy blond hair and perpetually flushed cheeks.

“No...this cannot be.” The Chantry said that ghosts did not exist.

“Could be that I’m not a ghost.”

He slid down and plopped down into the seat.  His hair fell in his face and he grinned almost dangerously.  In his life, Loghain had never seen the Cailan he knew smile like that.  It was the smile Maric got sometimes--the look on his face when he challenged the Usurper to a duel.  And then afterwards, using his head as a puppet until Rowan rolled her eyes and knocked it out of his hand.  Rowan…

“Her too.” Again, this spectre read his mind. “What would she say?  She wanted me so badly and you let me die.”

Loghain turned from him. “Be silent.”

Immediately, he was up in his face, grinning.

“No, I won’t.  Because you want to hear this.  Do you think I would be here if you didn’t want me here?” The grin widened. “I’m not a ghost, Uncle.  I’m you.  I’m what’s eating you inside since before Ostagar.  Since you found that terrified mage cowering in a dungeon.”

Loghain took a step back.  The spectre thankfully didn’t match his steps.  He stood there, hands on his hips, that wide grin on his face.

“And what about what you’re letting Howe do to the Alienage?”

He took in a deep breath. “It is not a just solution but it is--”

“Bullshit.  Save that for your official excuse when it gets out.  You can’t lie to me.” He cocked his head to the side and added, “What about the night elves?  You remember them, right?  Your squadron from the rebellion?  Doesn’t this feel like a betrayal to them?”

He turned away again, even though he knew it was of no use.

“What about the Wardens you’re hunting down?  The ones you slandered and lied about?  You going to go two for two?  Kill both of Maric’s sons?”

His face twitched momentarily and it exactly matched one of Cailan’s expressions that so often caught him off guard.  When he grew serious or the rare instances where he was mocking, his face that so many people said was a mirror for his father’s resembled Rowan’s.  The jut of the chin and the turn of the lips.  His chest ached.

“Is this too much for you?” he asked. “Let me change.”

He put both of his hands over his face and then moved them apart.  As he did, he transformed from masquerading as Cailan to instead take another form.  A tall youth with broad shoulders and sickly pale skin.  His hair was black and long, some pieces haphazardly braided near his ears.  His eyes stared out with icy blue indifference and Loghain swallowed against a lump in his throat.

“I figure this is more appropriate,” he said, his voice now raspy rather than Cailan’s jocular intonations. “I am you after all.  Your conscience.”

This was too much.  He had to be hallucinating--seeing Cailan, and then himself was pushing it too far.  Him, the young him, raised his hands that were covered in blood.

He lifted one and said, “Ostagar.”  Lifted the other: “The Civil War.  How many have to die?  How long can you say that any of this is for the ‘good of Ferelden’?”

“Be silent!  Be silent and leave!”

He tossed his head back in laughter. “No!  You can’t get rid of me that easily.  I’m here.  I’m every thought in the back of your head as you betray your Crown, your country--every decision that pushes it deeper and deeper underground until the Darkspawn devour it whole.”

His face grew serious but almost comically so.  His eyebrows arched in exaggerated concern and his mouth went slack.

“Oh, what would he say?”

Loghain sighed and shook his head.

“Maric would--”

“Not Maric, no.” His eyes flashed and he bared his teeth as he said, “Gareth.  Gareth Mac Tir.  You remember him, don’t you?  Gave his life for Ferelden.  Did everything for the prince, for you.  Ring any bells?”

He flung at the spectre with one arm.

“Enough!”

He jumped back from the sweep and giggled.

“Your downfall was symbolized by this.” He pantomimed swinging a sword. “Giving up your arrows for swords and shields started you on this politic bullshit.  You see any archers getting arse-deep in politics?  No, surrendering your weapon-style, yourself, was what started doing you in.  That and your shitty moral compass.  But that’s why I’m here, right?”

“Get out!”

He shrugged.

“Fine by me.  If you won’t listen anyway, I’m not gonna waste my time.  I’ll be around, though.”

The image dissipated and Loghain sank to the floor of the nursery.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering what in the Void just happened.  He was hallucinating, that was it.  Not enough sleep, not enough to eat.  He’d lost it for a brief moment, weighed down by all he was doing for his country.

“Your majesty!”

The door to the nursery opened and, to his relief, it was not another spectre, but to his dismay, it was Howe.

“You would not believe what the nobles are saying.”

He was still so rattled by the past several minutes that he almost said what he was thinking: “If they’re speaking ill of you again, don’t blame them.  Blame yourself for killing the one person who could stand you.”  Howe looked genuinely frightened, though, so he wondered what was being said.

“What?”

“Cousland’s brat is alive!” Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke. “He was the one who killed my men stationed at the castle!”

Ah, that was it.  Howe’s men hadn’t been as thorough as they thought at Castle Cousland.  Who was the youngest?  Loghain had only met Fergus on several occasions: Ostagar, the Landsmeet after Maric died, at the lad’s wedding.  There was another one, much younger than him.  Loghain last saw him when he visited the castle, over fifteen years ago with Maric.  There had been a chubby little boy walking on all fours pretending to be a dog.  He imagined that boy--whose face was a mystery to him--growing up and killing Howe’s men and frowned.  That could be an issue albeit one solely for Howe.

“Worse, he’s in the company of the Grey Wardens.”

Now it was Loghain’s issue.  His head began to pound as if crushing him.  He pinched the bridge of his nose again.  He needed a drink.  Somewhere he heard a mocking little voice say, “That’s not all you need.”

\--

Dawn was approaching.  Kierin sat wrapped in a blanket, watching the last embers in the campfire die out.  Above him the sky was pinkening with the promise of a new day.  Behind him the Frostback Mountains loomed.  The Clan had never ventured this far west when he had been with them.  Theron said they used to but it was too treacherous.  Too many lives were lost.

He prodded at the charred wood with a stick.  Sparks flickered up and danced out of the small pit Alistair had dug.  On this trip, they had brought the most with them since no one knew what to expect.  It wasn’t just the Wardens but Zevran, Leliana, and that human Lord as well.  He couldn’t help but think this was a waste of time.  They should just let the shem die rather than chase after some legend, but it was Maeve’s call and not his.  Plus, they would never hear the end of Alistair’s whining if Eamon died.

“Lethallin?”

Kierin sat up straight and dropped the stick.  The blanket slipped down from his shoulders, exposing them to the cold, early morning air.  He turned and saw Theron standing in front of him.  A blanket hung from his shoulders and his feet were bare.  He lifted a hand to his hair and pushed it over to one side.  As long as he had known him, Theron was always up early.  No matter how deeply he slept, he awoke with the sun.  He often thought it odd for someone so lazy to get up so early until he followed him one day and saw that he used the early hours to run and train himself as if he could outrun his constant illness.  It had impressed him then but annoyed him now.  Theron had spent the night with Zevran in his tent and Kierin couldn’t figure out how it made him feel.  When he saw them slip behind the tent flap together, there had been a strange pricklish heat that started at the base of his head and pitter-pattered down his spine.  Jealousy...was he jealous?  Why would he be jealous?

“Put socks on,” he told him gruffly. “The ground’s cold.”

Theron wiggled his toes on the earth and shrugged.

“You’re on watch alone?”

It was Kierin’s turn to shrug.

“I wanted time to myself so I told that big shem to get some sleep.”

“Ian.”

“What?”

Theron’s eyebrows raised the slightest measure.

“Ian.  His name’s Ian.”

Right.  Someone else who slept with Theron.  Kiern’s shoulders jerked unconsciously.  There it was again.  That prickly feeling.  What did it mean?

“Time for yourself?” he pressed on, blithely cruising by the topic of Ian. “For what?”

“Thinking.”

Theron giggled and walked forward.  He pressed the tip of his finger on Kierin’s forehead, right where the flame of Elgar’nan was tattooed.

“Thinking about what?”

He smiled and tipped his head to the side, all of his hair tumbling with him.  It had grown longer, he’d noticed--somehow.  It was to his mid-thighs now.  Kierin’s own hair had grown but it had been so closely cropped that it honestly didn’t look much different.  If anything, it was beginning to resemble Alistair’s and that was a fate worse than death.

“This quest.  It’s ridiculous.”

“I know.” Theron crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out. “Who even cares about this shemlen bullshit?”

Kierin felt his shoulder unclench, then.  He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been over Theron’s actions until that exact moment.  He had been so down lately, sad--the situation with the bear aside--especially after Redcliffe.  Hearing him sound like his old self was refreshing and relieving.  He scooted over and jerked his chin to the spot next to him near the now dead fire.  Theron sat down, folding his legs in a criss-cross and resting his elbows on his bent knees.

“You alright?” Kierin asked.

Theron shrugged under his blanket. “As good as I can be…”

He stared at the firepit rather than at him, his gaze blank.

“Are you still having dreams?” he asked suddenly, tearing his gaze from the charred wood.

Kierin frowned and thought for a moment before he said, “You mean Warden dreams?  Yes.”

He decided to neglect telling him about Garahel and the promise he had made.

“Do you still dream of the Archdemon?”

“Yes.  Sometimes.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Theron looked away, this time at the mountains behind them.

“It speaks to me…”

Kierin swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat.

“What does it say?”

He shook his head but didn’t take his eyes off of the mountains.

“I don’t remember when I wake up.  It’s odd.”

He shivered under the blanket.  Garahel was right, of course.  But how was Kierin supposed to protect him if the Archdemon came to him in his dreams?  He wasn’t somniari.  He couldn’t walk into Theron’s dreams at night.  He decided, right now, that the best thing he could do was simply change the subject.

“How are you and Zevran?”

Theron’s face grew remote and Kierin remembered that the last time they had spoken about him and Zevran, it had ended with Theron slapping him across the face.  Still, sensitive topic or not, it was not the Archdemon.

“I feel safe around him...I can’t explain it.  He makes me feel safe.  Warm.  Like…”

Like Tamlen.  He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Kierin to figure it out.  His face looked pained, then, and he looked away.

“I feel like I’m betraying him still,” he murmured, “to have these feelings for someone else…”

“You also slept with Ian,” he pointed out, a bit rudely.

Theron shook his head.

“That was different.  Ian...Ian was like everyone else.  He desired me.  With Zevran it’s different.  When we fuck it isn’t just that anymore...the way he looks at me is how Tamlen did.  It frightens me.”

He put his hand to his chest and pulled on a necklace that hung there.  Kierin frowned.  He had never noticed that one before.  It was next to the vial of blood they all wore as a symbol of their Joining.  This necklace was made of wooden beads, each carved into a different animal.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to it.  Was it a lover’s token from Zevran?  The thought made that prickly feeling return.

“It belonged to my mother,” he said, flattening his hand against the necklace. “Ashalle gave it to me before I left.”

“Oh.” The feeling dissipated.  What was wrong with him?

They sat in silence, the air between them growing awkward with things left unsaid--at least about Zevran.  At last, Kierin cleared his throat and stood.

“Come on, lethallin.  Let’s wake the others.”

\--

The weather grew colder as they headed further up the mountain.  They were still a ways away from where the town was supposed to be but it was already bitterly cold.  Devyn shivered under the wool cloak he wore.  It was threadbare like everything he owned.  With Theron’s constant looting of corpses, they probably had enough to to buy newer, thicker coats but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.  Now, at least, it was too late since they were already halfway up the mountain path.

He felt an arm drape over his shoulders and a slight force pull him against a warm body.  Devyn glanced up to see Alistair’s profile.  He looked down at him, smiling in that stilted, awkward manner of his.

“You looked cold.”

Devyn wiggled closer against him and tried to match his stride to his to keep up.  His feet tripped over a loose stone and he lurched forward.  Before he could completely tumble over and roll down the incline, Alistair swept him up into his arms and held him.

“What are you doing?”

A blush rose to his cheeks as he said, “Well...I’m so much larger...I don’t know.  I thought this was romantic…”

Devyn had to laugh.  Alistair tried so hard.  He was also very warm and Devyn was tired of walking.  He hooked his legs around his middle and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“You may continue.  Watch out for my ax.”

He rested his head against Alistair’s chest and let him carry him the rest of the way up the mountain.  His mother’s boots were starting to get a bit worn and the greaves of his armor didn’t sit quite right against them.  He flexed his food inside the boot and winced.  Shit.  He didn’t want to give these boots up but if someone--Maeve--found out that he was in pain, he’d probably have to.  Idly, he wondered how often he could enlist Alistair in carrying him if he explained to his lover his reasoning.

“This feels weird,” Cassan said. “Like...that ruin we found the werewolves in.”

Theron nodded his agreement.  One of his hands was already tensed on the handle of the knife he kept sashed at his waist.

“It’s cold,” Alistair added.

To that, Kierin snorted and said, “Of course it’s cold.  We’re on a mountain in winter.”

Alistair ducked his head down and Devyn kissed his cheek.  He was still getting this “standing up for himself” thing down, it seemed.

They were getting closer to civilization, at least.  Devyn began seeing little planks of wood hammered into the sloping path.  The path also grew wider, smoother.  They no longer had to walk in a single file line.  For that, he was glad.  He did not want to die by tumbling down a mountain and having Kierin’s arse land on his face.

Up ahead, he could see a roughly made wooden arch that he figured had to be the entrance to Haven.

“We’re getting close,” he said and nudged Alistair a little, “put me down.”

He acquiesced and Devyn dropped down to his feet.  Immediately a bolt of pain made his knees buckle and he grabbed onto Alistair’s arm to steady himself.

“Cousin?”

He looked up to see that Maeve had doubled back to check on him.

“I’m fine.  My feet just hurt,” he said.  No sense in lying now.

Maeve looked down at his boots and he sighed inwardly.  Now she was going to talk about how worn they were and how he’d have to get them replaced.  He leaned further against Alistair, waiting for the lecture.

“...We need to get to the town,” Maeve said, jerking up her gaze. “Now.  Alistair, pick him back up.”

Devyn frowned but before he could speak, he was scooped back up into his lover’s arms.

“What’s going on?” Cassan asked, voice churlish.  She made the face she made when she was about to make a smart remark but Maeve just pushed past her.

“Move.”

“What’s the big deal?” This from Ian.  He was walking with Cassan, making for the most hilarious height comparison in all of the Thedas.

“That’s what I want to know,” Devyn complained. “They just hurt and, yeah, my boots are kind of ratty but--”

Maeve turned and stared at him with wide-eyed surprise.

“Ratty?  Can you honestly not see?  Cousin, your feet are bleeding--and have been for a while by the looks of it.”

“Huh?”

He looked down and...oh.  The toes of his boots were dyed red.  He had to be bleeding pretty badly if it dyed the thick leather.

“Shouldn’t we take them off?” Zevran asked.

“And have his bare feet in the winter air on a mountain?” Alistair shot back.

“Yes.  Bare feet in winter is so strange.”

Theron rolled his eyes and skipped along, the soles of his feet smacking on the frozen ground.

“We should at least stop and bandage them,” Leliana put in.

“I’m fine,” Devyn insisted.

Maeve shook her head.

“Haven’s too close.  Besides, it gives me an idea.”

An idea?  Devyn frowned.  What did his bleeding feet have to do with Haven?  At the top of the slope a guard was posted.  At the sight of them, he seemed to come to life, moving to block their entry.

“No outsiders,” he said firmly.  Narrowing his eyes, he added, “State your business.”

Maeve cleared her throat.

“My cousin is injured.  We need to find somewhere with supplies to help.”

The guard looked past her and scrutinized him, held in Alistair’s arms as he was.  Devyn squirmed a bit.  Humans glaring at him tended not to end well.  He bit the inside of his cheek to stop from saying anything.  The guard stepped aside.

“You can trade at the shop in town but that’s it.  We don’t like outsiders coming in...sticking their noses where they don’t belong.” His eyes raked over all of them as though assessing them.

“Thank you.” Maeve bowed her head.

They walked past the guard and Devyn could feel his eyes lingering on each of them as they passed.  It was a creepy feeling that lingered after they walked away.  He knew there was something terribly wrong about this town.

\--

The shopkeeper wouldn’t stop looking at them.  Zevran thought it maybe was because of the fight Devyn and Maeve got in about his boots.  She wanted to discard them since they were worn thin and, well, soaked through with his blood.  He wanted to keep them even though his new boots seemed to cushion his bandaged feet a lot better.

“They’re mine.  Papa gave them to me.” His eyes narrowed. “And mama made them for me.”

Maeve’s face softened and she sighed before dropping the boots into her pack.  Good, that was resolved.  Now they could properly investigate this horrifyingly weird town.

The shopkeeper’s gaze was at once pointed and blank.  He moved his eyes but didn’t move his head as he looked at all of them: Cassan and Ian laughing at something he said, Maeve and Devyn’s argument, Theron looking at bows stacked against the wall, Kierin sniping at Leliana about something, Alistair picking his nose because he thought nobody was looking.  Zevran narrowed his eyes.  Something was off.  He could almost smell it.

He felt fingers brush against the small of his back and he started.  He turned sharply and saw Theron looking at him.  His heart fluttered but he ignored it.

“I smell something in the back room,” he whispered. “Watch my back?”

“Always.”

Zevran noted that he didn’t bother to alert the others as they milled about, getting ready to leave.  Just him.  What did that mean?  He almost sighed.  What did anything about them mean?

“Hey, stop that!”

The shopkeeper rushed from around his counter to block Theron as he approached.  Kierin immediately jerked away from Leliana, face set in a scowl.

“I just wanted to see if there was anything in the back.” Theron tossed his hair and smiled flirtatiously.

“There’s nothing.”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrows and the smile morphed into a smirk. “Then what’s that blood I smell?”

The shopkeeper fell silent for a moment before he lunged at him.  Theron moved at the last moment and, in a surprising show of gracelessness, stumbled backwards to fall on his arse.  Zevran made up for it by pulling a knife from his boot and thrusting upwards into the man’s abdomen.  He went down hard, slumping onto his side and bleeding out like a stuck pig.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that this town is hiding something,” Ian remarked.

Kierin tossed him a dirty look as he rushed over to where Theron was on the floor.

“Are you alright, lethallin?”

He held his hand out for him and Theron took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.  His free hand rubbed his backside.

“Not the way I usually like to get a sore arse but…” He punctuated his statement by tossing a brazen grin towards Zevran.

He smiled back.  Kierin adopted a look that was a cross between angry and sad and Zevran couldn’t quite place it.

“Let’s see what he was hiding,” Maeve announced.

Zevran went with the others into the back, deciding to let his thoughts wander away from Kierin’s odd expressions.  In the back room of the store, there was an overpowering stench of blood.  The source of which was clearly the pile of dead, mutilated bodies.

“Look at the shields,” Ian said, “Redcliffe.”

Alistair’s jaw clenched at the sight of the heraldry.  These were Arl Eamon’s men.

“You know...I saw a lake.  You’d think they’d just dump the bodies in there.  This is super incriminating.” Devyn folded his arms over his chest.

Maeve shook her head at her cousin’s comment.

“Alright.  We’re going to split up into groups and search the town.”

“Something tells me that’s not a good idea.”

She glared and said, “And something tells me that you aren’t the leader, Cousland.”

Ian held up his hands in mock surrender.  The groups split off rather naturally.  Devyn went with Alistair and Cassan went with Ian.  Leliana and Maeve was a bit of an odd combination but Zevran figured that their reluctant leader wasn’t keen on being with any of those remaining.  That left he, Theron and Kierin.

“Where should we go?” Zevran asked.

Kierin didn’t answer since he was too busy examining Theron for injury and Theron was too busy ignoring him.  He cleared his throat.

“Ahem?”

“Lethallin, if you’re bruised--”

“By the Creators, we’ve all had worse injuries than me falling on my ass!”

Theron turned around and went to Zevran.  He linked his arm with his and drew him towards the exit.

“Come on.  Before he starts taking my temperature.”

He opened the door and Zevran glanced over his shoulder to see if Kierin was following them.  He was but there was an expression on his face that it took him a moment to read.  Jealousy.  Kierin was jealous.  Immediately, the pieces fit together in his head.  Kierin was in love with Theron and didn’t even realize it.  Theron seemed completely oblivious to it as well.  Zevran bit the side of his cheek and sighed.  If there was one person in their little party he didn’t want to piss off it was--well, actually it was Morrigan.  But Kierin seemed pretty good with that sword of his.  Well so long as they were both oblivious to it then things could carry on as usual.  Not that Zevran was occupied with his own burgeoning love feelings.  No, that would just be foolish.

\--

They saw a little boy playing in the field.  He was alone and singing to himself.  It was a rhyme and, to Cassan, it sounded like one of the creepiest things she had ever heard and that included Castor talking about demons he had conversed with.  He turned to them and stopped, his singsong voice trailing off into nothing.  He had something cupped in both hands but she couldn’t tell what it was.

“You’re outsiders,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Mama says outsiders aren’t welcome here.”

“Believe me, if we didn’t have to be here, we wouldn’t be.”

“What’s that mean?”

Cassan shook her head. “Nothing.  Never mind.”

Ian frowned and knelt so he was eye-level with the kid.

“Where is your mother?” he asked.

“She’s at the chapel with the others but I’m not going yet.  I’m playing!”

Ian had a concerned look on his face that she didn’t quite get.  This was just some creepy kid.

“You both look strange,” he continued. “Are you a mage?  And is that a bow?”

They exchanged a look.  The boy began skipping away, saying his rhyme again.  He swung his hand out and Cassan could see what he held: a finger bone.

“Well, we’re leaving.  Bye kid.”

She grabbed Ian by the arm and dragged him away.  He was still looking at the kid, concerned.

“What’s with that?” she asked, gesturing to his face.

“What’s with what?”

“You were all...worried about that strange, creepy Haven child.”

Ian shrugged those massive shoulders of his and glanced over his shoulder.

“I dunno.  Since Oren died, I’ve been kinda protective over little kids.  Like...it’ll make up for me not being able to save him.”

“Oren?”

Ian looked out into the middle distance, not meeting her gaze.

“My nephew.  He was...one of the first Howe’s men killed.”

Howe again.  Cassan scowled.  She was beginning to hate that man as much as Ian did.  Everything she found out about him just made him sound like the world’s worst human.

“Can you believe he’s the Arl of Denerim now, too?” she asked.

Ian whipped around to look at her. “What?”

Oh, well, shit.  He hadn’t been told until now.

“Yeah...Devyn and them found it out.” She winced and looked away. “He also...kind of knows you’re alive.”

She saw his jaw clench and his hands ball into fists.  It was for a flicker of a moment, though, and they relaxed.

“Well...I suppose that means he’ll be living in constant fear of me killing him until I actually do.” His eyes flashed and, for a moment, even Cassan was scared of him.  She drew in a deep breath and opted to change the subject.

“Come on, hamhead.  Let’s tell the others about how all the villagers are in the chapel.”

\--

Of all the things that they had done and had to do since this journey began, Devyn reckoned that breaking into a house wasn’t very high up on dubiously moral decisions that had been made.  Naturally those included recruiting an assassin and not to mention all of the murders.  Still, perhaps it was their punishment for breaking into the house that they had to up and find this.

“Perhaps it’s for...preparing meat?” Alistair asked pitifully.

The altar was against the wall and stained red with blood.  The stone wall behind it bore blood as well, a dark red-brown against the gray.

“...Love, no.”

He had read stories about this before but they were fiction.  Fearful horror stories.  This was--different.  Different and completely unsettling.

“Why does everything about this village keep getting worse and worse?”

Devyn patted his arm consolingly and, all of a sudden, felt his gaze on him.  He tilted his face up and hazarded a shy smile.  Alistair’s eyes were scrutinizing, a quick flip from his previous demeanor.

“What?”

“Your mother made those boots?”

Ah.  Devyn bit the side of his lip and looked to the side.

“Yes.  When she carried me, she guessed how big my feet would be when I was grown and she was right--I think she measured my papa’s feet--and they...they’re special to me.  I don’t.”

He blushed.  This was foolish.  They were talking about feelings in a house they’d broken into in front of a bloodstained altar.

“You don’t…?”

He sighed.  Relented.

“I don’t have a lot of stuff that was hers.  You know.”

Alistair touched his breastplate under which lay the amulet Devyn had found for him in the Arl’s study.

“Right.  I know.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Let’s...find the others, yes?”

He turned abruptly and started towards the door.  Devyn squinted after him, confused.  That was odd.  He broached the subject and then immediately dropped it.  What was that about?

\--

Leliana was remarkably quiet as she and Maeve walked around the outside of the shop.  She had been that way for some time--quiet.  Since she, Ian, and Zevran had come back from Denerim.  Something had happened there and she wasn’t sure what it was.  It was something unsettling, though, and she had a feeling that despite the presence of Ian and Zevran, it had nothing to do with the Pearl.

She wasn’t entirely sure how to bring it up, however.  Outside a few nights on a shared watch, she and Leliana didn’t exactly talk.

“What happened in Denerim?” she asked bluntly.

Well, that was a start.  Leliana looked at her, eyes wide, as if she were a deer caught staring down a hunter’s arrow.

“What do you mean?” Her voice was affected, polished.  Fake.  Maeve frowned.

“You, Ian, and Zevran went to Denerim--”

“Meat came as well.”

“--And something happened.” Maeve crinkled her brow at the interjection that had no bearing on anything at all.

Leliana looked away, upwards towards the mountains that surrounded the city.  Her gaze was remote, detached.  It took Maeve a moment to realize that that wasn’t an odd occurrence.  She often adopted that expression as if she was putting on a show and fell out of character.  What concerned Maeve, though, was whether or not she was a fellow performer in this show or the audience.

“Leliana?”

She turned to her and blinked.

“Yes?” Her brow furrowed for a moment and then smoothed itself. “My past caught up to me but it has been handled.  I promise it won’t interfere with our quest.”

There was more she wasn’t saying but Maeve decided to leave it at that.  There was too much to do and every moment spent investigating this town was just sapping that time away.  She straightened herself and rolled her shoulders back.

“Come on, then.  We have to catch up with the others.”

The village was still eerily quiet, empty.  No one was out and about.  Upon meeting with the others, Ian and Cassan reported seeing a child who said that everyone was in the chapel on the hill.  To Maeve that sounded more ominous than anything.

“There was nothing by the lake.” Theron’s eyes were directed over her shoulder and flickered as if trying to focus.

Maeve frowned. “What is it?”

Theron blinked and shook his head before resting it on Zevran’s shoulder.

“I hear something,” he said. “Boots.  The...clanky bits that are on…”

He pointed to Devyn’s shins.

“Greaves?” Maeve supplied and he shrugged.

Zevran lifted his hand and stroked Theron’s hair.  Perhaps unconsciously, Kierin’s shoulders hitched up for that half a moment.  Everyone seemed tired, out of it.  Leliana was still distant and Alistair looked even more nervous than usual.  Even Ian did not look like he was all the way with them.  She wondered if it was the thin air up in the mountains or if the eerie atmosphere of the village was getting to all of them.

“We ought to head to the chapel,” Devyn said, stifling a yawn. “I feel if we stay out here--”

Theron sprang up all of a sudden and slapped his hand over Devyn’s mouth.  Maeve watched her cousin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, disappearing into his overgrown fringe.

“What is it, lethallin?”

Theron slit-eyed him and said, “The footsteps, Kee.  Obviously.”

He stressed the word as he said it, making it sound like it had far more syllables than it did.  In one smooth motion, he reached behind himself to unsling his bow and notch an arrow.  It happened so quickly that Maeve didn’t even see the two movements separately.  She could hear it now, though, the footfalls.  Many people were approaching.

“I think people know we’re here,” Cassan said.  She had her staff in her hands, angling it out away from her.

“Well if someone went into the shop, the dead body would be a pretty big giveaway,” Alistair remarked with a chuckle.

On one of the lower hills, Maeve started to make out the shapes of their approaching attackers.  Like Theron suspected, they were armored as well as armed.  The second one broke forward, Theron let loose an arrow and it pierced them in their throat.  This spurred the others on and they ran faster, their feet more sure than theirs were on the inclined land.

“...They’re glowing,” Ian said. “You’re all seeing that, yeah?”

Maeve slipped her arm into her shield and assumed a fighting position.  As they got closer, she could see that he was right.  Their attackers had a slight red hue flashing in their eyes and flickering on what skin was exposed.

“Let’s just kill them and then figure out why they’re glowing later,” Kierin said through gritted teeth.

Maeve nodded her agreement.

“Right.  Let’s finish this and get to that chapel.”

\--

Theron spat on the ground and rubbed his fingers on his tongue.  Some of those fighters’ blood had gotten in his mouth and it tasted rancid.  Not like ichor or the gall from corpses but something...corrupted.  He screwed his face up and spat again.

“I got a taste as well.”

Zevran’s lips were near his ear and a shiver worked its way down his spine.  He still was unsure about how hard he was falling for him and what that meant about his lingering feelings for Tamlen.  But he knew that, for once, this wasn’t about him.  They had to get those dead lady’s ashes and cure what’s-his-name and continue on with their quest.

“It’s disgusting,” Theron whispered back.

Zevran nodded and leaned in to press his face against the curve of his neck as they walked.  It hadn’t taken long to dispose of that group, glowing though they were.  There were a lot of them and they were more skilled.  Something was putting him off, though.  Ian said that some random child had said something about a chapel.

“I thought you shemlen just had chantries.  What’s a ‘chapel’?”

Instinctively, he turned to Leliana.  She had lived in one of those buildings, anyway, plus out of all of those who were ostensibly Maker-ians or whatever it was called, she was the only one who seemed remotely observant.  Even almost-Templar Alistair shared the rest of the group’s distaste for the Chantry if not for the beliefs themselves.

“Some villages have no chantry and so call smaller places of worship chapels where there are no brothers or sisters but singular reverend,” Leliana explained in her sweet, singsong voice.

Theron didn’t bother to say that he didn’t really care beyond idle curiosity but he smiled at her nonetheless.

The chapel was at the top of the hill and on the door it bore that sun symbol the chantries did.  Maeve stepped forward and pulled one of the doors open.  It was ancient and dragged the other one with it.  That made him frown.  The sun painted on the wood was fresh but the doors themselves looked about to fall off.  The chapel opened into a large open room where shemlen in plainclothes stood listening to an elderly man in robes that looked close to those that Cassan wore.

“And Andraste shall…” the man trailed off at the sound of the door opening and lifted his head to look at them.  Immediately, he glared. “You!  You dare come to our village, disrupt our way of life?  And now you come into our chantry?”

“I thought this was a chapel...Leliana?”

“Not now, Theron.”

He pouted, folding his arms and slumping against Zevran.  Ian stepped forward and smiled broadly.

“Actually, man who’s weirdly in charge of the chantry.  My elf mage lover and I wish to be wed.  Right, Cass?”

He offered her his arm and Cassan took it, rolling her eyes.

“Definitely.”

Maeve took the lead, having enough of all of their behavior apparently.

“Your town is hiding something.  We found the bodies of Arl Eamon’s men and someone in Denerim tried to kill three of us.  So tell us what’s going on--”

“And/or where Brother Genitivi is,” Devyn interjected.

“--Or…” She glared at him. “Things will not end well for those here.”

The old man’s scowl deepened and he drew his hands before him.  Lightning sparked at his hands.  Maeve sighed.

“I suppose it’ll be that way then."

 


	16. Chapter 16

Tobias was finding it difficult to adjust to life outside.  He had so quickly gone from being sequestered in a tower to being outside, camping.  The outdoors was cold and miserable and awful but also the most beautiful and brilliant thing he had ever experienced.  Outside was so, so vast.  It was more than he could have imagined from reading in books.  It stretched on for eternity above his head.  For someone who had seen the sky through the slats in a window for over ten years, it was...remarkable.

“Please stop staring upwards.  The cut will be uneven.”

He listened dutifully because he always listened to his elders and allowed Wynne to finish trimming his hair.  Now he no longer had to lift his bangs up with one hand to see.

“You have lovely eyes,” Wynne said with a warm, crinkle-eyed smile.

“Th...ank you,” he mumbled nervously.

Tobias bowed his head and rose from his seated position.  He had come far from how he had been all those months ago before Jowan left but he still felt like he was too awkward.  He didn’t even know what he was doing here with the Wardens.  Ostensibly he was supposed to report to Irving and report to the Wardens’ leader about the state of the mages able to aid in the Blight.  But he wasn’t even a senior enchanter.  He had only turned nineteen a fortnight ago and was far from being any beacon of authority.  At least out here the voices didn’t bother him as much.  In the Tower, it was nearly unbearable.  The spirits that spoke to him both in the Fade and out of it.  He didn’t know what it meant or why but he was glad that being outside and away from the Tower dampened their roar.

Brushing some hair from his shoulders, he made his way to the firepit.  His entire life, Tobias got cold easily, unable to handle even chilly weather.  He had originally hailed from the north where the weather was warmer, even though his memories of home were scant and mostly just smells and sounds.

The other advisers were sitting by their crates of supplies, making no move to make their way around camp.  Tobias thought that maybe it was odd that he was interacting with those left at camp.  It wasn’t like there was a lot of companionship.  Morrigan stayed by herself and so did the Qunari.  The Golem had derisively sniffed the magic on him, said “oh another mage” and promptly ignored him.  Tobias also never subscribed to the Fereldan fanaticism of dogs and so talking to Meat was out of the question.  Wynne was the only one currently at camp he could talk to but, after cutting his hair, she had retreated into her tent and he thought it disrespectful to follow.

Alone, he sat at the fire, close as he dared.  When he closed his eyes, the bright flames left an imprint on his eyes, moving around rapidly behind his shut lids.

“Hello.  Tobias, was it?”

He opened his eyes and shut them again immediately as he was still staring into the fire.  Turning his head, he carefully opened them once more to see who was addressing him.  It was the mage who stayed in the far outskirts of their camp: Morrigan.

“Oh.  Hello.  I mean, yes, it’s Tobias.”

She sat near him but not too close.

“How come you didn’t go with the others to the temple?” he asked in an attempt to make conversation.  Then again, Morrigan didn’t seem to go most places.

“I have not been feeling well,” she said flatly.

“Oh.  Um...I hope you feel better?”

It came out sounding like a question and Morrigan gave him a withering look.

“Please.  I did not come here to watch your force yourself to make idle chitchat.  I have a question for you.”

“Uh...okay.”

He knew he had come a long way from where he had been before Jowan left but he still wasn’t good at social interaction.  Least of all with someone as disarming as Morrigan.  Her yellow eyes were almost always narrowed.  Not necessarily in malice or disgust--he hoped--but like she was always scrutinizing everyone and everything.

“You are like Cassan, yes?  You spent your entire life in the Circle?”

He nodded. “Yeah...uh, most of it.  I was from the Free Marches before--Kirkwall.  Don’t remember much of it, though.  I was taken to Ferelden when I was six.”

Morrigan’s eyes roved over him and Tobias shivered despite the fire and the many layers he wore.

“What do you remember of life before?”

Tobias frowned, thinking on it. “I remember my grandpa burning a letter from my mother’s cousin.  She’d had twins or something and it was their name day and I remember my mother and her other cousin begging him to talk to her and everyone was sad so I felt sad, too.”

Her frown deepened and he figured that what he’d said had been the wrong thing.  He shrank back a little.  Compared to the full intensity of her stare, facing that desire demon in the Fade was nothing.

“What of magic?  I heard you and Wynne talking while she cut that lank hair from your face.”

His hand went defensively to his head, wondering if his hair was truly lank.

“Uh...I had nightmares.  Real bad.  They were actually spirits, though.  Wynne says that I’m a spirit medium and it’s a good thing so...that was a relief.  Why?”

Morrigan leaned in, her eyes suddenly wide. “Tell me more.”

Tobias screwed his mouth to the side.  He felt less intimidated now, at least.  She seemed to have momentarily dropped her mask of scrutinizing, outside observer and just looked...interested.

“I can summon spirits...wisps, mostly.  Nothing really big.  Usually it just helps me heal people.  Why are you interested?”

She slumped back a little and rose her eyes up to the stars that were just making their presence known above them.

“I...had a curiosity and that old woman wasn’t going to tell me anything.  Thank you, Tobias.”

With that, she rose and walked back to her tent.  Tobias furrowed his brow as he watched her go.

“That was weird.”

\--

Maeve rubbed her temples wearily.  They seemed to be making little headway with this quest.  Brother Genitivi (alive, hurt, boring) was waiting for them near the front of the cave and they had not even his knowledge to assist them.  Everywhere they turned, they seemed to bump into more cult members.  The air in the cave was both cold and stale and it seemed to be wearing on her.  Maybe everyone.  The others all looked distracted, just as they had in Haven.  The only break up of monotony was when they had found a library in the ruins.  It had been strangely preserved despite the snow and Alistair had had to pick Devyn up to get him away from the books.

Now they just moved through the caves, desperately trying to find their bearings.  She had to be grateful for Theron, though.  At the lead, he was putting his skills as a Dalish tracker to good use.  Every now and then he’d point and say “footsteps that way” and it seemed to be getting them all somewhere.

For once, they were all quiet.  No one was making a smart comment or arguing.  The atmosphere wouldn’t allow it to be peaceful but it was different.  Maeve looked around and realized, with a startling sensation of terror, that she missed the chatter.  Cassan leaned despondently against Ian who had his arm around her shoulders.  Idly, she wondered what that was about.  It didn’t look romantic but it was intimate and familiar in a way that she had yet to see their resident mage be with anyone else in their ragtag group.

Kierin stared ahead, somewhat glaring at Zevran while Zevran pretended not to notice that he was being glared at.  Like most things with Kierin, Maeve assumed it had to do with Theron.  Leliana, again, was tight-lipped.  Maeve knew she would have to question her later about what really happened in Denerim.  She supposed that she could go around her and question Ian or Zevran.  Cousland had a big mouth (both literally and figuratively) and Zevran always seemed readily available to offer up any information.  Really, though, she wanted to hear it from Leliana.

Behind her, she could hear low talking she had not been aware of before.

“...new boots, though.”

Maeve peeked out of her peripheral vision to see Alistair’s shoulders slump.

“Yes but your feet were still badly injured.  And the tunnels are getting--uh, just I was making sure you’re alright.”

She turned her gaze back forward and sighed.  She didn’t know why their coupling still angered her.  It had been going on strong for months now and Devyn was happy.  And Alistair was taking care of him.  He--Maeve nearly physically stopped in her tracks.  Oh.  It was suddenly clear: blisteringly crystal clear.  She was jealous of Alistair.  Not in the way that, say, Kierin was jealous of Zevran, but more in that something that had been hers was being taken away from her.  She had seen Alistair even putting salve on him more than once at camp when the winter sun blazed bright behind a haze of clouds.  Her entire life had been spent protecting her cousins--particularly Devyn as he was the biggest troublemaker--and now that was being taken away from her.  It wasn’t as though she had nothing else or no other purpose but it felt odd.  It felt like he was being taken away from her.

She rubbed the heels of her hands over her eyes.  This was not the time.  There was too much going on, too much at stake, for her to be worrying so much about this.  And yet there she was.

The stress was mounting, creating a headache behind her eyes.  They had secured two allies using the treaties and another by helping Redcliffe.  Yet it still felt like they had done nothing.  Loghain had support and Howe kept collecting titles like Soris collected rocks back home.  Home was another issue.  Devyn had said that on his last trip to Denerim, he still wasn’t allowed back in the Alienage and that Gunnar had said it was quarantined.  On top of that, they still had to go to Orzammar and had to find this urn, if it even existed.  Plus, after all that, they had to figure out something to do about the Archdemon and the Blight.  That wasn’t even getting into the interpersonal drama between Theron, Kierin, and Zevran or Cassan’s bouts of surliness or her own worries over Devyn and Alistair.  And, of course, what Leliana was keeping secret, what Morrigan was still doing with them and what would happen once Ian killed Howe.  It was terrible being a leader.  Everyone just naturally turned towards her as if she would know exactly what to do.  Alistair was the senior Warden but he did not want to lead nor did he seem to be particularly skilled at it.  At the thought of Alistair leading, another thought trickled into her head.  With her preoccupation on his and Devyn’s relationship, she had forgotten something very important: Alistair was King Maric’s illegitimate son.  He could potentially have a bid for the throne.  Maker, this was too much.

Maeve drew in a deep breath.  She had to just focus on one thing at a time.  And, right now, it was getting past this cult and getting to the Urn.

\--

Cassan looked to her side where Devyn was staring at her.  He was to the back of the group since his feet were still injured and, thus, slowed his pace.

"What?" she asked.

"I'm taller than you now," he pointed out.

He drew closer and they both stilled.  He drew the flat of his hand from his forehead to hers and, sure enough, he was an inch or so taller.  Cassan glowered.

"You're still younger, pipsqueak."

"Only by months.  I'm eighteen now."

She punched him in the arm and demanded, "Since when?!"

He had the audacity to shrug as he said, "'Bout two months.  My name day is near the end of Harvestmere."

She had had no idea and was surprised that not even Maeve had made a big deal over it.

"Oh...well.  Whatever."

They kept walking and Cassan decided to pay attention to the sound of their boots crunching on the snow over anything else.

"Y'know I talked to her," Devyn said.

"Who?"

"You know who." He slapped this disgustingly smug grin on. "She had no idea what I was talking about, though.  She must be the only one who has no idea you fancy her."

"Drop dead, Tabris."

He brought his hands to his chest and widened his eyes.

"Oh, Morrigan, you're so pretty and mysterious.  Oh, Morrigan, sure, I'll kill your mother for you!"

Cassan scowled. "I don't sound like that."

A moment later, she realized what he had just said.

"Wait.  How did you know about that?"

She whipped her head forward to glare at the back of Ian's head.  Removing her staff from where it was strapped to her back, she whacked him in the back of the knees with it.  His legs buckled and he lurched forward, almost crushing Kierin in the process.

"Ow, what?!" he demanded as he got back to his feet.

"You yapped about our favor to Morrigan!"

"Did not!"

The others were now staring and Cassan felt a blush prickle her cheeks that she pretended was due to the cold air of the temple and not her embarrassment.

"Sten told us, actually," Devyn said. "He felt it his responsibility to 'report all activity to our leader.'"

Maeve was glaring at them all with that look on her face and Cassan hung her head.  Shit.  This was bad.

"Just tell us beforehand before going off and killing ancient abominations," she said curtly. "Now stop being so loud.  We're trying to avoid run-ins with a cult, remember?

\--

The first thing Devyn thought when he saw Kolgrim was that he really, really wanted his axe.  It was a thing of beauty.  It was shiny and ornate and looked wickedly deadly even from a distance.  Kolgrim was speaking to them in great booming tones but he wasn’t listening.  He was just thinking about a way for him to get that axe.  He entered back in the conversation as Kolgrim’s voice petered off and a silence rippled through the group.

“Wait...so...let me get this straight.” It was no surprise that Ian was the first to regain his voice. “You worship a dragon you think is Andraste and you want us to pour dragon blood in Andraste’s ashes and then drink them?”

Kolgrim’s eyes narrowed.

“In the most literal sense, yes.  But, truly, you are spiritually drinking the blood of Andraste and it shall fill you with power.”

Devyn didn’t like that sound of that.  He remembered the last time he drank blood; he was supposed to have died and it was only Maeve’s urging and his own extreme stubbornness that kept him alive.  Plus, if they fought Kolgrim and won, he could take his axe.  He looked around the chamber they were in.  It was slightly larger than the others in the tunnels and he was grateful for that.  However, it was still closed in and Kolgrim had many men.  The path to the Temple of Sacred Ashes led outside.  It gave him an idea.

Ian scrunched up his nose and said, “Hard pass.  That sounds gross--even to me.  And I’ve once tripled myself.”

“What’s tripling yourself?” Alistair asked.  Truth be told, Devyn didn’t know what it was either.

“It’s when you come, vomit, and shit all at the same time.”

Even Kolgrim’s cult followers fell silent for a moment after Ian made that statement.  Zevran and Theron both shuddered.  Devyn took a deep breath and decided to both change the subject and move things forward.

“Would you come into the temple with us?” he asked.

“No...the Guardian will not let us pass.”

“Good.  We’ll do your task thing and then meet you back outside.”

He held his hand out for the vial of dragon blood.  Kolgrim seemed all too eager to hand it over and Devyn tried to ignore the incredulous looks he was receiving.  He carefully cradled the vial in his hands and slipped it into his pack.

“Follow me, believers.”

Kolgrim made a dramatic sweep with his arm and led them towards the opening to the outside.  Devyn heaved a sigh of relief.  More than anything, he was happy to get out of those caves.  He started to walk forward but a sharp jerk on his arm forced him to turn around.

“What are you doing?” Alistair whispered, eyes wide and frantic.

He smiled and stood up on his tiptoes to kiss him.

“Trust me.”

\--

Maeve did not know what to do with her cousin.  What was he thinking?  Siding with Kolgrim?  They needed the ashes for Eamon.  They had not wasted days traveling just to ruin this.  She tried to catch his eye but he was looking away from her.  Above them, on the cliffs, “Andraste” slept.  Now they were in the temple, away from Kolgrim, his followers, and his dragon and she wanted answers.

“Cousin?” she prompted.

Devyn turned and extracted the vial from his pack.

“Think this’d make good pudding?” he asked.

She faltered.  That had not been what she had expected.

“What?”

Devyn looked at them, a goofy grin on his face and his free hand on his hip.

“You really think that I was going to side with him?  I just wanted to draw him out of that cave.  We get the ashes and then we deal with him.  Oh, and I want his axe.”

He dropped the vial back into his pack and turned round to start heading deeper into the temple.  Maeve blinked after him in surprise.  Devyn...had thought ahead.  He just didn’t think about smashing the problem.  He also hadn’t met her gaze because he was a terrible liar and looking at any of them would ruin his plan since it would read all over his face.  She was...impressed.  And a little proud.

They didn’t have to walk far into the temple to get to a closed door guarded by a man.  He wore heavy plate armor and had a large, finned helmet on his head.  Empty eyes stared out at them on a face that was otherwise unremarkable: light skin, an even nose, a dark goatee.  This had to be the Guardian.

“Hello.” His voice sounded old.  Like a heavy, dust-covered door being opened. “You are the first to have come here in many years.  I welcome you, pilgrims.”

Maeve didn’t know what to say and, judging by the silence, no one else did either.

“You have come a long way.  You have faced many challenges.” Those eyes roved over each and every one of them.  At last, they settled on her. “Maeve Tabris.  Caretaker for your cousins.  Do you feel that you have failed them in their lives?”

She thought of Devyn locked in a box for almost half of an entire day.  Of Soris sobbing into the scarf his mother made him as he sat in the ruins of his house.  Of Shianni shaking and pale on the floor of Vaughan’s bedroom.

“Yes,” she said. “Not entirely but I wish I could have helped them more...stopped...pain.”

She trailed off, feeling she wasn’t making much sense.  Devyn squeezed her hand.

“You’re too hard on yourself.” He smiled softly. “You’ve done what you could.”

The Guardian said nothing and turned his gaze instead to Devyn.

“And you, Devyn Tabris.  What of your cousin, Shianni?  Do you feel you failed her by not reaching her in time?”

He closed his eyes slowly and then opened them.

“Yes.  I should have...I should have moved faster.  I should have seen his friend going to hit me at the ceremony...I should have…”

He broke off and chomped down on his lower lip.  Alistair’s hand stroked his back.

“It’s alright, love.”

As with her, the Guardian made no reaction to his reply and moved on to the next.

“Alistair.  Grey Warden.  You feel indebted to Duncan.  You often wish it was you who died on the battlefield instead of him, don’t you?”

The hand that had been stroking on Devyn’s back tensed and dropped to his side.

“Yes...everything would have been better if Duncan lived.” He looked away.

Devn took his arm gently and rubbed his cheek against it.  He mumbled something but Maeve couldn’t make it out.

“Theron Mahariel--”

“Yes,” he said sharply, cutting him off. “Yes, I failed Tamlen.  Yes, I think about every day.  Yes, I wish I had died instead of him!  That's what you were going to ask, right?”

He clenched his fists tightly, his face screwed up in anger.  Maeve was surprised, not at the outburst but by all of the hurt in his voice.  The Guardian turned from him, moving on.  As was the logical progression after Theron, he turned to their other Dalish elf.

“Kierin--do you fear others finding out your secret?  Do you fear him finding out?”

Kierin let out an agitated noise and flexed his hand on the pommel of his greatsword.

“Shut up!” he snapped. “I don’t have to answer you!”

The stare persisted.  He crumpled under it and wiped a hand over his face.

“Yes.  Alright?  Yes.”

Zevran snorted a bit and folded his arms over his chest.

“This is such the hour for feeling sorry for ourselves, no?  Is self-flagellation to follow?”

“Zevran Arainai.”

“Oh, it’s my turn.” He put his hands on his hips and smirked, tipping his head to the side as he did so.

“As an assassin, you have taken many lives.  But none do you regret taking more than--”

He snapped upright, his easy posture and casual, joking manner gone.

“How did you know about that?” He narrowed his eyes and then his face softened, and then fell. “Yes.  I do.”

Maeve knew at this point that he was testing them all.  Measuring their worthiness to enter the temple.

“Ian Cousland.  You are the sole survivor of your family’s massacre.  Do you find your survival unfitting?  Yourself unworthy?  Did you fail your parents?”

Ian turned his head away and then forward again.  It was perhaps the low light burning from the torches in the temple but his eyes looked wet as if he were fighting back tears.

“Yes.  Every fucking day.”

The Guardian, again, made no remark or reaction, and moved on to the next.

“Leliana.  You say the Maker speaks to you.  This won’t have been the first time you’ve lied.  Are you so desperate for redemption that you take His name in vain?”

She faltered a bit as if surprised that that was what the Guardian said and then cleared her throat.

“I...I don’t know what you mean.”

At last, he turned to the remaining member of their party.

“Cassan Surana.  You assisted a blood mage in escaping the Tower of Magi.  Do you regret your actions?”

“No,” she answered quickly. “The Circle was an oppressive, blighted nightmare.  I’d have helped anyone escape.”

She crossed her arms and jutted her chin out.  Maeve thought she got off a bit easy compared to the rest of them.

“What about leaving the others behind?  You went so long thinking you were better of them but do you not care for their plight back in the Circle?”

Cassan faltered. “I...yes, I suppose.  I mean I do care.  I never...thought of that.”

The Guardian stood and stared at them all.

“You have been judged worthy to enter and face the gauntlet.”

The heavy wooden doors opened, revealing a long hallway.

“By the Creators, the rest of this better not be so terrible,” Kierin hissed as he stepped forward.

Maeve had a feeling that he was wrong about that.

\--

The next room was a bit of a blur to Devyn.  They walked across a large hall, speaking to what looked like ghosts asking them riddles.  He had been excited until Kierin asserted that they were some kind of ploy and had a small argument until Maeve broke it up.  Everyone was a bit more on edge than before after what the Guardian said.  Kierin especially was in rare form.  He kept sneering at everything and glaring at the ground.  Devyn wondered what his “secret” was that was brought up.  He would have asked but he knew Kierin wouldn’t answer.  He was a bit preoccupied anyway.  He hadn’t thought about his guilt over what happened to Shianni in a while.  He knew it was Vaughan’s fault, really, but he could have helped instead of plowing ahead without thinking, like always.

He looked up and saw himself staring at an enormous door.  They had apparently reached the end of the hall.  He put his hand out and gently touched the wood.  Despite its size, it easily swung open as his fingers brushed it.  The area on the other side was a shallow, horizontal walkway backed by a large, stone wall.  He could see paths extending from either side of it, presumably leading deeper into the temple.  Against the wall, he thought he saw a shape move but it may have been his eyes playing tricks on him.  He scowled a bit.  Eyes playing tricks on him.  Now he sounded like Kierin.  Devyn stepped through the doorway and it shut behind him, cutting him off from the others.

Darkness engulfed the small area and he felt his heart begin to pound.  He had no idea how to find the path around or to get the door open.  He backed up, his armor clanking against the wood as he came into contact with it.  Then, a light.  It focused on the wall directly in front of him and began to blur.  It formed a shape, sharpening again into a shoulders, arms, a body, a head and a pair of pointed ears.  Features came into shape next: almond-shaped eyes and freckles on pale skin.  Short red hair.

“Shianni?” he asked.

She smiled and it was almost as though it wasn’t a spirit but truly his cousin.

“Hey.”

The spirit even sounded like her and the sound of her voice opened the gates for a flood of homesickness to wash over him.

“You hear to ask more riddles?” he asked.  The light in the room made his fear abate and...this was Shianni.  Or at least as close as he was going to get until the gates opened back in Denerim.

“Not my style.” She looked away and then back at him. “It’s not your fault.  Don’t put it on yourself.  You do that.  This and with your mom.  Bad things happen and, a lot of the time, it’s because of humans.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He looked away.  Shianni was usually his partner in crime but sometimes she reminded him she was older and would double-team him with Maeve to be an unrelenting force of motherly disappointment.

“Don’t ‘yeah, yeah’ me, Devyn Andreas Tabris.” The spirit had picked up on that as well. “We think you’ve forgotten us.  You’ve gotten too big for your tiny, baby-sized breeches.”

“That’s not true!” he said sharply. “And you know that!  They won’t let us in back home and...shit.  It’s hard, Shi.  Like everywhere I go people are shitting on us.  Humans, other elves.  I want them to know that an elf from an alienage is just as elf as they are...that we matter.”

Devyn let out a breath.  What he had said hadn’t made much sense but it seemed to please the Shianni-spirit.

“That’s good...here.” She held out her spectral hands. “Hold out your hands.”

He did as he was told and she put hers over his.  He felt something drop into his hands.

“Good luck, cousin.” She smiled once more, a slow and hazy smile, before dissipating.

\--

Alistair followed Devyn into the room only to lose him the moment he stepped in.  The door shut behind him and he found himself alone.  He turned around once and then twice and a third time but then he got dizzy and had to stop.  The others, he swore, had been just behind him and now he was alone.  No, not entirely alone.

A light was forming in front of him into a vaguely human shape.  Alistair jumped back and crashed into the door, whacking the back of his head quite soundly on the wood.  He hissed in pain and grabbed it, squeezing his eyes shut to stave off the ringing that had begun in his ears.

“Alistair?” a voice asked.

He opened his eyes and saw that the light had formed fully into what he could only describe as a ghost.  He half-expected Brother Genitivi to leap into the room and shout, “spirit!” but he didn’t care.  All that he was seeing as that Duncan was standing in front of him.  For a moment he couldn’t breathe.  He looked at his mentor in front of him.  He took in his armor, his beard, the way his eyes shone in that special way.  He felt lightheaded and realized a moment later it was because he was holding his breath and had just slammed his head on a door.

“Duncan,” he whispered, breath coming out in a great whoosh.

He smiled that reassuring Duncan smile and Alistair felt...better.  He wished it was the real him.  Guiding them, leading them through the Blight.  Sometimes he selfishly wished it was him and not Theron who got to be with him when he died.  It was an awful thought since it was a contributing factor to the Dalish’s continued shock as well as his episode in Redcliffe but it was there, in the back of his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, voice coming out hurried and breathless. “I’m so sorry that I’m not a leader.  That I’m the senior Warden and can’t lead anyone and I don’t know what to do about being King if that’s even a thing and-and I just feel so lost.  I don’t know what I’m doing or what we’re doing without you here...Maeve’s doing a good job don’t get me wrong but it feels like it should be me.  I should be the leader.  Everywhere we go there’s another issue and Loghain is out there, plotting and-and-and everything is wrong…”

Alistair finished his rant with a shudder.  He wasn’t lying when he told Devyn that he had made all of this bearable for him.  Without him, he didn’t know what he would do.  Probably drown under his own supposed responsibility that he was shirking.  Duncan looked at him for a long moment before he spoke.

“You are doing the best you can...long ago, I made a promise to watch over you.  Protect you.  Conscripting you into the Wardens may have acted against that but I feel it is still the best thing to happen to you.”

He furrowed his brow. “Long ago you what?”

He ignored him and pressed on. “You are learning, Alistair.  You are young.  You will figure it out and you will succeed.  Just remember that.  Keep those you love and those you lost with you.”

His mind reeled as he tried to process all of that.  As he stared blankly, Duncan took his hands and placed something in them.

“You are stronger than you think.”

\--

Theron jumped when the door shut behind him.  Little things like that were setting him off lately.  It sounded like the pounding of a rock hitting a rock wall as it was fired from a trebuchet.  The room was plunged into darkness and he brought his hands to the handles of his knives, ready to draw them.  He didn’t trust this temple not to have defenses, for there not to be violence.  He wished there not to be.  He remembered back home with his Clan, how he would be the one clamoring for them to go after shemlen nearby or tussling with other hunters.  Now he shook at the thought of battle.  He knew now that that wasn’t battle.  Those were games.

“Emma lath…”

The last time he had heard that voice was a whisper in the Beyond.  He turned and, in the time during his reverie, an apparition of Tamlen had appeared in front of him.  Theron closed his eyes for a moment.  Of course.  He could not escape a moment without being reminded of his loss, his failure...his Tamlen.  Guilt still gnawed at him the more feelings he developed for Zevran.  Of he and Kierin being allowed to survive and Tamlen to be gone.

He knew this wasn’t the true Tamlen but to see him outside the Beyond, in front of him, it made his heart ache in a way like the wounds were fresh and not months old.

“It is not your fault.” He smiled softly. “You tried to stop me, remember?  I should have listened to you and not been...so determined to show Kierin up.  That was my fault.”

Theron nodded numbly, barely taking it in.  It didn’t matter.  He felt to blame.

“I miss you,” he said quietly. “And...I am falling for another and I’m afraid that means I’m forgetting you....”

Tamlen took his hands in his and smiled again.  Whoever this spirit was, he was calmer than his Tamlen ever had been.  Only alone did he share this sweetness with him, this tenderness.

“It’s alright, emma lath.  I’m gone.  You can move on; it doesn’t mean you’re forgetting me.”

Theron bit his lip and looked away. “What if I lose him like I lost you?”

That was an underlying concern.  He felt guilty for besmirching Tamlen’s memory for falling in love with Zevran but he also feared he would lose him.  These were treacherous times they lived in.

“It may happen but you can’t let that stop you.  Let go and move on.” He paused for a long time. “I don’t want to say that but I have to.  It’s what has to be said.  Ma’arlath.”

“Ma’arlath,” he said back.

In their clasped hands, Theron felt something drop into his.  Tamlen leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips.  As he did, his eyes slid shut and when he opened them, there was only darkness.

\--

Maeve wasn’t entirely concerned when she entered the next room to find herself alone and surrounded by darkness.  She felt it to be the logical progression after everything else in this Gauntlet, on this mountain, on this entire quest.

“You need to relax.”

She turned, startled, at the sound of that voice.  The last time she had heard it, truly heard it rather than the facsimile in the Fade, was over a decade ago.  In that dark room, Aunt Adaia stood in front of her, marked by a corona of soft light.  Maeve couldn’t help but smile.  Her aunt always made her feel calm and safe.  She barely remembered her own parents: a woman with curly hair and dark skin, a man with strange-colored eyes like Aunt Adaia, like Devyn.

“Seriously.  You work so hard and try so hard thinking you’re never good enough but,” she paused to let out a raspy laugh. “You are.”

Maeve looked away, unsure what to say, if anything.

“You take care of Nelaros even though you don’t love him,” she continued. “You watch over your cousins and keep them from harm whenever you can--including my most precious treasure.  You take care of your fellow Wardens, you guide them.  You do everything for everyone and forget yourself.”

Maeve nodded and swallowed uneasily.

“I know...I mean, I guess I know.  It’s hard, though.  Always being the one people look to for guidance.  I don’t even know if I’m doing it right.”

“No one does.”

“And I failed Shianni,” she pointed out. “And Devyn.  And, even now, I failed Theron.”

Aunt Adaia raised her eyebrows and turned her hand out.

“How?”

“We didn’t get to Shianni in time.  Devyn was locked in that crate for hours.  I never once asked Theron about Ostagar…”

She had never voiced these doubts but even if she knew this wasn’t really her aunt--how else could she know of events that transpired later?--she felt at ease enough to speak them to her.

“You aren’t perfect, Maeve, and no one expects you to be.  You think they all rely on you to know everything but they’re just looking for guidance and assurance, not definitive answers.  You just have to remember that.”

Aunt Adaia put her hands on her shoulders and looked at her intently.

“You’re a good leader, Maeve.  The best ones don’t think they are.  Just keep going and you’ll make it, alright?” She smiled and slid her hands down so she was clasping Maeve’s.  She felt something drop into her hands. “I’m really proud of you, you know that?”

\--

“My darling boy.”

Ian had no idea what he would see past that room of riddling ghosts but the last thing he expected to see was a spectral vision of his mother.  He stared at her blankly for a moment, unsure of what to say.  Emotions rushed forward and he felt like crying but still he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“It’s alright,” she said softly.

“No it’s not!” he finally managed. “You’re gone and...I try to be how I was, how I’m supposed to be but there’s just this rage and hatred that Howe is still alive and it scares me.  And you’re not here for me to talk to and I wish you were.  I wish we were back at the castle and I was bored out of my skull trying to run it and Oren would…”

He broke off and dropped to his knees, tears leaking out of his eyes.  He fell against his mother’s legs, dimly registering that they were solid, and cried in great heaves.  He couldn’t remember crying afterwards or when he was hiding in his home, killing Howe’s men.  But any tears he had been saving up came out as he sobbed helplessly on the floor.

“Let it out,” she whispered and he felt her hand stroke his hair. “It will be alright.”

Ian glanced up and swiped under his nose with his forearm.

“I don’t even know what I’m going to do when he’s dead.  I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

He had tried so hard to be who he was, who he truly was.  Endear the others with his personality to hide how much he hurt, how angry he was.  It was eating him alive.  His mother reached down and cupped his face in her hands just as she had when he was little and came to her sobbing after he, again, was deemed useless with a sword.

“You’re you.  What happened at home, what Howe did and how you feel doesn’t change you.”

“It feels like it did.” He figured she was trying to reassure him, that that wasn’t true.  Trauma shaped you, changed you.

“Not entirely.  Not what makes you you.” She frowned. “You thought we were all so ashamed of you and, yes, maybe you could have used discretion but you were our son.  Your father and I could never be ashamed.”

His mother took his hands and got him to his feet.  Once there, she continued to hold them.

“Do not let your vengeance consume you and change who you are.  You are a good person.  You care about others.  Do not forget that.”

He nodded numbly and she moved both of her hands to one of his.  Carefully, she cupped them and placed something in the palm of his hand before closing his fingers around it.

“I love you,” he said, feeling pitiful.

His mother smiled. “I know, darling.  I love you, too.”

\--

Leliana had conflicting ideas when she was consumed by darkness and found herself alone.  The questions the Guardian had asked her had thrown her off.  She imagined insinuations about her guilt over killing Marjolane and enjoying it.  Now she didn’t know what to expect.  He had questioned her faith, her vision.  Honestly, she hadn’t thought about the vision for some time.  None of her fellow companions seemed to be very religious.  Even Alistair who was training to be a Templar only seemed to believe in the Maker since he didn’t have reason to believe in anything else.  Now to see it brought up and mocked was...confusing.  She had been so confused lately and Maeve’s questioning hadn’t helped.  Honestly, she was surprised their leader didn’t already know.  Ian and Zevran weren’t known for their discretion.

She knew something was going to happen related to the line of questioning at the entrance but she did not know who or what waited for her.  As the light came into focus and the figure took form, her heart rose to her throat.  In front of her stood Marjolane.  So this was her test.

“Hello, Leliana.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side as she smiled.

She didn’t speak.  She didn’t know what to say, to be honest.  She still felt the sting of her betrayal even though it was behind her.  Marjolane was dead and could no longer hound her.  She had killed her herself.  For two years she had tried to forget her but she hadn’t, had she?  For two years, she had tried to be someone else, someone better.

“So silent, I see,” she continued. “You know you had to kill me.  Even if you are the sweet and pious Sister you know it.  But you aren’t, are you?”

Leliana could only shake her head.  No, she wasn’t quiet and pious Sister Leliana who sang the Chant to the children.  But she also wasn’t Leliana the Bard who seduced and killed for fun and occasional profit.  So...who was she?  To that, she didn’t have an answer.

“I always said you think too much.” Marjolane pointed her finger and extended her thumb as she pressed the tip against Leliana’s forehead. “Such introspection.  What do you get in constantly examining your existence if you never get an answer?”

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “I wish I did.”

“It rarely does, but.” Marjolane ended her sentence abruptly and leveled her with a stare.  Even this vision of her had that piercing gaze. “You must at least let this go.  I am dead and, oh, I deserved it.  Get beyond it.  Then maybe you’ll have answers.”

She had nothing to say to that.  Marjolane took her hands and dropped something in them.  She felt the clink of metal on metal and wondered what it was.

“Good luck on not letting your past eat you,” she said and blew a dramatic kiss on each side of her face, just as she used to.

Leliana blinked at her as she faded from view.

\--

Cassan felt a bit cheated if she were being honest.  It felt like all of the others had all of this tremendous emotional baggage and her moral quandary hadn’t even been much to think over.  Maybe she was shallow in not having as much trauma in her life but it made her feel unsettled.  It was almost like a competition again, like back at the Circle.  Everyone else had something above her.

“You’re always like that, you know.”

She jumped, surprised at the sudden voice.  Not just the intrusion but who it belonged to.  She turned around to see her brother standing before her.  It couldn’t really be him--the faint corona of light around him saw to that--but he looked like him and sounded like him.  He had his arms folded over his chest and a broad grin on his face.

“Like what?” she asked crossly.

“Everything’s a competition.  Back in the Tower it was with me or anyone else who happened to come in contact to you.  You always have to be the best.”

“I am the best.”

Castor sighed and shook his head. “If you know it’s a lie, just don’t bother.  Yeah, you’re a good mage--almost as good as me--but you can’t keep doing this.  You don’t even want to anymore.”

She opened her mouth to speak but then shut it.  No, he was right.  Something had changed.  This most recent thought about a trauma competition--asinine as it was--was the first time these thoughts had come into her mind.  She felt no competition with her fellow Wardens or the others in their little group.  Maybe it was because they weren’t mages.  She had no idea.  Something had changed, though.  It wasn’t just her competitiveness but also her...attitude.  She was nicer, maybe.  She hadn’t really noticed it but it was rather evident now.  Was this what this place was for?  Reflection?  Realization?

Castor knocked his knuckles on the side of her head.

“Hello?” he asked, one hand fanned around the side of his mouth in faux amplification. “You there, Cass?”

She slapped his hand away.

“I was thinking.”

“No surprise there.” He laughed. “Listen, this isn’t even about that but it’s cool that you’re having an epiphany.  Maybe you’ll give me less hard of a time next time I see you.”

“Doubt it.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think so.  Anyway, you don’t have to feel guilty, by the way, about us back at the Tower.  We’re rebuilding, we’re okay.  The enchanters haven’t realized I’m a blood mage.  It’s all okay.”

Cassan frowned. “How do you know that?  That I was thinking that?”

He shrugged again. “What do you think this is?  I’m you, what you know, deep down.  Under all that surliness and bluster, you’re caring.  You care.  You cared about helping Morrigan beyond your little crush.  You care about making Ian feel better.  You’re a way better person than you think you are.”

She couldn’t help but snort in laughter.

“You practice that bullshit line, Cas?”

He frowned and folded his arms again.

“I was trying to be deep and resonant, asshole.”

At that, she let a smile creep on her face.  Castor always dropped his sugar and sunshine routine with her and it was refreshing to hear it again.  She had missed him.  In the Tower, they barely had time to connect with the demons and abominations and all.  Even so, it had been months since then.  Her brother was probably her only friend growing up, if he could even be called that.

“Look, you’ve realized that all of this preoccupation with being the best spirit mage or keeping the others at arms length is getting you nowhere.  You have proper friends now.  Friends that’d probably do anything for you.”

She didn’t buy that.  If they did, would Devyn tease her back in the cave?

“Like he teases his family?” Castor answered her thoughts again.

Alright, she had to allow that.  She was close to Ian, which surprised her as he was both human and a noble.  But he was different.  He didn’t act like the mages in the Circle that came from noble families--Amell not included.

“Maybe you’re right,” she conceded.

“I am.  Anyway.  There isn’t much more to do here so...here.”

He held something in his hand and she reached out and took it from him.

\--

Kierin’s shoulders tensed as darkness engulfed him and he reached back to grab the pommel of his sword.

“You needn’t use that, little nose.”

His hand relaxed and he felt a sense of security fill him like a long lost warmth.  With a clank of armor, he let his arms fall to dangle at his sides almost sheepishly.  He glanced up to Ashalle’s beaming, beatific face and put a faint semblance of a smile on.

“You’re being so secretive,” she said, “and I thought it was Theron whose patron God was Dirthamen.”

He looked away, sheepish again, and she gently took his chin in her hand to direct his face back towards hers.

“You needn’t hide either,” she said.

“Yes I do.” He knew this couldn’t truly be Ashalle and so he had no fear of her knowing. “I have to.”

“It isn’t just that…” Her gaze went more intense and he wanted to shrink away again. “You need to tell the others of your dreams.  What Garahel told you.”

He shook his head.

“No, I can handle that.  I can handle it all, alright?”

Ashalle didn’t look convinced and Kierin bit the inside of his cheek.

“...I don’t know,” he admitted. “I feel...I don’t know.  I can’t describe it.  I feel close to the others but I don’t want to.  I want it to just be me and Theron sometimes but also...like he’s slipping away from me.  Like I can’t reach him.  And that means I can’t protect him like Garahel wants me to.”

He knew what he said out loud didn’t make sense but it gave words to what he had been feeling.  Him being with Zevran or talking to the others over him, it felt like he was losing him.  Theron was, really, his only friend.  Merrill was friendly towards him and the other hunters like Fenarel and Ineria were kind but he knew his disposition made a lot of people sour--and that didn’t get into the fact that he would constantly show everyone up during the Hahren’s lessons.  He knew Tamlen barely tolerated him for Theron’s sake.  Theron was all he had and now he was losing him.  She drew him into his arms and held him like she had when he first came to their Clan and had nightmares about his parents’ deaths.

“You can and you will, little nose, but you need help.  You need the others.” Ashalle stroked his hair with her hand as she spoke. “Even if you wish it to be, it is not just the two of you.  You have to let them in.”

He sighed and looked down at his feet.

“I guess…”

Ashalle reached down and placed something in his hands.  She kissed the side of his head.

“No, you don’t guess.  You already know.”

\--

Zevran exhaled as he left the room, clutching Rinna’s gift to him.  He didn’t know how to truly react to seeing the woman he had loved, the woman he had killed, stand before him.  He joined the others in a small hallway that led to a much larger room.  He looked down at his hand and saw that her gift had been a necklace with a small, round mirror hanging off of it.  He looked up and saw that the others all held similar ones.  They also all bore similar looks of contemplation and he wondered who they saw.  For many of them, it was easy to guess: Theron had to have seen Tamlen, Leliana that woman they’d killed in Denerim, and Ian had seen one or maybe even both of his parents...but he couldn’t say for sure about the others.

He looked to Theron whose eyes looked a bit puffy as though he had been crying.  Zevran went to him and reached out to gently stroke his shoulder.  He didn’t expect much and was surprised when Theron put his head on his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him.  Zevran seized up for a moment before relaxing into the embrace.  They were getting more comfortable, the two of them.  It scared him.  Seeing Rinna hadn’t helped that.  She was proof of what happened when he let himself fall in love.

“That was an ordeal,” Ian announced.  It was no surprise to anyone that he was the first to talk.

A low murmur rippled amongst the rest of them in agreement.  Maeve stepped ahead, a determined look suddenly on her face.

“Let’s keep moving,” she said.

Theron pulled away from him to walk forward and Zevran’s body leaned in towards him as he did.  He shook his head and looked down at the mirror on the end of his necklace.  He walked ahead, still looking and feeling despondent.

\--

“That was a waste of time,” Cassan said grumpily.

“No it wasn’t,” Alistair shot back.

She stopped, surprised at the ferocity with which he had delivered that reply.  He had carried the tiny bag of ashes that would heal Arl Eamon until he nearly dropped them and Maeve relieved him of that burden.

“We got what we came for,” Maeve said.

“And I got this axe!” Devyn said excitedly.  He lifted it up with one hand, the silverite that made up its blade reflecting the setting sunlight.

She had to concede to that.  They did get what they came for and only had to go through personalized emotional upheavals in order to get it.

“Are we going to at least fight the dragon?” she asked.

“No.” This from everyone else in the party.

Right, they were tired of being on this mountain.  She was, too, but everyone seemed so gloomy and she felt like she had to raise their spirits.  The irony, of course, was not lost on her.

“We’re going back to camp,” Maeve said, “and we’re going to regroup and figure out our next move.  That’s all.”

That tone brooked no disagreement and the nine of them made their way back.

\--

Alistair snuggled down into his blankets, never more grateful to be back at camp.  That entire quest had been hard on everyone but they all seemed to be.  Each one left them more and more tired and drained.  He honestly didn’t know what they were doing anymore.

“You alright?” Devyn asked.

He shrugged and curled in tighter around him.  Even though he was far larger, Alistair liked behind held by him.  He felt safer there.

“You seemed distracted...” he continued.  Devyn paused and his eyes skirted over his face with that usual intensity he had long since gotten used to. “Did you see Duncan?”

Alistair closed his eyes and nodded.  It wasn’t just Duncan, though, it was everything else.  His parentage now being common knowledge and a potential bargaining tool.  He wished they could go to Redcliffe straight away and awaken the Arl so he would have answers but Maeve insisted that they regroup at camp and he wasn’t going to waste time in trying to fight her.  He was getting better at standing up for himself but he knew a losing battle when he saw one.

“No one got off easy,” he said, burying his face in Devyn’s bony shoulder.

“Yeah…”

Alistair sighed.  He wished they could be making better use of their time in here rather than moping.  Devyn had finally convinced Maeve to let the two of them have a watch together and they were wasting their limited privacy.  He wanted so badly to talk about his experience in the Gauntlet and the worries about what came when everything was said and done and his fear over losing him due to whatever responsibilities his heritage would entail.  However, another part of him wanted to just ignore it and bury it down--write it off as a problem for future Alistair.  A larger part of him wanted to do something naughty.  He tilted his face up and kissed Devyn once gently and then more urgently.

“Oh?  You want this now?” he asked, laughing.

“I want a happy distraction from my thoughts,” he admitted with what he hoped was a wolfish grin. “And what better way to get my mind off of the sadness than my darling love?”

Devyn exaggerated a groan and said, “You are laying it on way too thick.”

“No, I think I sounded rather sexy and devoted.”

He laughed again and ducked his head so his mouth was flush on Alistair’s neck.  He wondered what he was doing there until he bit down gently.  A shiver went up and down his spine and he arched his back, leaning fully into Devyn from where he was curled against him.

“Oh!”

“Was that alright?” he asked, lifting his head.

Alistair nodded. “I just...never had that before, I--do that again?”

He did and they began moving together in what was becoming a familiar rhythm that Alistair hoped he was getting the hang of.  He wanted to lose himself in him for a bit and forget the impending problems and the ones he had faced.  At least for a little while.

\--

Theron hunched around the fire, poking at the wood with one of his arrows.  He had his knees drawn up to his chest and rested his chin on them.  Kierin was with him, polishing his armor.  He had been oddly silent the entire way back.  Like the rest of them, he probably had a lot of think about.

He could hear moaning and groaning coming from the tent Devyn and Alistair shared and shook his head.  At least someone was enjoying themselves.  Kierin lifted his head and pulled a face, which let him know that he had heard as well.

“When we made camp on the way back I had a dream the Archdemon saw me,” Kierin said, speaking to his reflection in the breastplate on his lap. “Cassan said she had the same one.”

Theron frowned.  He didn’t want to talk about the Archdemon.  It featured heavily in all of his dreams, constantly drawing him in with beats of its tattered wings.  He felt it whispering to him but he could never remember the words once he awoke.

“It probably knows what we’re doing,” he continued. “Don’t know what that means…”

He didn’t answer him.  This time it wasn’t just due to the subject matter, he heard something.  Above the sound of Alistair and the crackle of the fire, he could hear a high-pitched sound, almost like a scream.  Kierin’s head snapped up.

“Did you hear that?”

The moment the words left his mouth, several puffs of smoke appeared around the fire, materializing into what he guessed were Darkspawn.  He felt the poke now, the indication that they were near.  Which did nothing since they were right on top of them.  He had never seen these type of Darkspawn.  They had elongated bodies, pointed ears, and round heads with gaping mouths full of sharp teeth.

Theron leapt to his feet and grabbed the knife he kept at his waist and started slashing at it.  Kierin threw his armor to the side and lunged at the one closest, not even bothering for his sword.  Already the others were out, drawn by the screeching.

“Shrieks!” Alistair yelped.  He held his shield over his crotch and wore nothing else.  Next to him Devyn stood with his fists raised wearing what one could only presume was Alistair’s shirt.

“What?” Cassan demanded as she fired a spirit bolt from her bare hands, “are Shrieks?”

Before he could answer--or try to get his sword or, more pressingly, his trousers--an arrow whizzed between two of the tents and pierced a Shriek in the throat.

“Something that needs to die,” Ian said simply.

It was an entire camp effort but, despite the element of surprise, they greatly outnumbered the Shrieks and dispatched them within minutes.

“Honestly,” Morrigan said haughtily.  She had actually moved from her spot in the far reaches of camp. “What’s next?  Darkspawn debt collectors?”

She turned her head sharply and let her body follow a moment after as she turned back to her own tent.

“What’s a Shriek?” Cassan asked again.  Theron realized, seeing who ducked into her tent and where the arrows from before had come from, that she and Ian were now apparently sharing.  Honestly, he wanted to know the answer behind that more than what those Darkspawn were.

Alistair had never found his pants and shifted nervously from foot to foot while holding his shield in front of himself.

“Well...you know how Darkspawn are living creatures affected by the Blight, right?” he asked. “Hurlocks were humans, Genlocks were dwarves...Shrieks, or Shurlocks, were...elves.”

Theron clenched his jaw.  Oh.  He looked up and caught Kierin’s eye.  This would have been their fate if Duncan hadn’t intervened.  He didn’t want to think about what it also meant.  Sten was carrying the bodies to somewhere to dispose of them but darkened ichor still splattered the ground around the fire.  Theron stared at a puddle for a long moment before movement out of the corner of his eye got his attention.  He looked up and saw a lone figure on the outskirts of camp, towards the path that led to the lake.

“What is it, lethallin?” Kierin asked.

Theron ignored him and walked towards the figure.  It didn’t look like the other Shrieks: it didn’t have abnormal proportions or long, scratching claws.  He drew in closer and, even in the darkness away from the campfire, he could see that the figure was an elf.  He was shorter than Theron but broad in the shoulders and thickset in the waist.  He wore Dalish armor, which threw him off.  His skin was covered in deep, dark blotches of Taint but there was something about him that caught him off-guard.  He looked into the strange elf’s face and choked on air.  Even hollowed out and covered in the same blackened veins that he and Kierin had suffered, he knew him.  Scraps of blond hair clung to his head and eyes that were once blue stared blankly at him.  Theron put both hands over his mouth.  His heart beat faster and he felt suddenly dizzy.  No.  No.

“Tamlen?”

He stared at him and made a low grumbling noise in the back of his throat.  Kierin had caught up to him but the others who didn’t go back to sleep were still lingering at the campfire, staring.  Zevran was among them, he knew.

“Emma lath…” he said, his voice a low and unfamiliar rumble. “Can’t...please.  The song...it’s…”

He closed his eyes shut tight and stumbled back.

“What song?”

“Taint...beautiful.  Haunting.  Controlling.” Tamlen looked at him. “Please.  I can’t go on.  Want...attack you.”

Kierin stared at them both, his eyes wide, and Theron was seized with a sudden anger towards him.  This was his fault.  He goaded Tamlen into touching the mirror.  He got them all into this.  He was why they were here, why they were seeing this now.  His mind clouded, ignoring all logic.

“Can’t control it.” Tamlen was speaking through clenched teeth now, his fists balled and his entire body shaking. “Emma lath, please.  Please.”

He looked at him, his eyes pleading.  They were almost his eyes.  The blue was gone, turned to black.  The whites around it were a sickly yellow.  But there was something there that was almost him.

“Wished we’d...never found that cave,” he grumbled and then winced as if in great pain. “Augh!  End it!  End it!  I…”

He raised a fist to hit him but then slowly, forcibly, lowered it.

“We have to,” Kierin said quietly. “You know that.”

Theron whirled on him. “Don’t tell me what I know!  This is all your fault!  Yours!”

Tamlen grabbed his head and howled in pain.  Still the others did not move from where they were watching.  Theron wanted them to go back into their tents.  He wanted them all gone.

“Emma lath…”

He swallowed and turned back to Tamlen.  Kierin was right, though.  He had to do it.  He drew his knife from his belt and held it in two, shaking hands.  He was the only one of them that was armed.

“I love you,” he whispered, feeling tears already choking his words.

Tamlen nodded slowly. “Love you too.”

Theron shut his eyes and drove the knife deep into Tamlen’s stomach.  Ichor mixed with what blood remained spilled out.  Tamlen’s body slumped forward onto him and Theron caught him.  He sank to his knees into the cold, hard dirt.  He held him as he bled out.  Then he threw his head back and began to wail.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Silence had fallen over camp and Kierin was digging.  They had no shovels so he used Devyn’s old battleaxe.  The flat surface of the axe did little to aid in this process but he didn’t care.  He kept digging.

Theron had retreated into himself again, like he had after Ostagar.  This time, Maeve mothered him.  She got him out of his bloodstained tunic and leggings and into something clean.  He sat in front of his tent, legs splayed out in front of him, eyes focusing nowhere.  Kierin wanted to talk to him but, then again, he didn’t.  Zevran was over there, trying to understand, and besides...it was his fault.  It was his fault that any of this happened.  If he hadn’t goaded Tamlen...if he hadn’t insisted they stay in the cave.

He hunched his shoulders and pushed more dirt away.  His shallow divot was becoming more of a proper hole.

“What are you doing?” Sten was the only one who dared approach him.  The others were giving him his space or had gone back to sleep.

“Dalish bury their dead,” he replied.

Kierin didn’t look to his right, away from camp, where Tamlen’s body still lay.  A tree was planted in his name where their Clan was, over dirt and no body.  He would do it right this time.  He had long since memorized what the Hahren said during the Rites.  He owed that much to Tamlen anyway.  They had never gotten along but he would never have wished this fate upon him.

“Your partner, was he recruited to become a Grey Warden due to skill?”

Kierin stopped digging and leaned against the long handle of the axe.

“My...Theron?  No.  Duncan recruited us both to save us from the Taint.”

Sten’s eyes scrutinized him and Kierin jutted his chin out defiantly.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it,” he said.

“He is ill-equipped to deal with the trials of war.  First Redcliffe and now this.”

Kierin decided to not bring Ostagar up as well.

“Right.  Because you’re never weak.  You didn’t kill a family and put yourself in a cage, right?  Ian told us what you told him.  That you put yourself there because you were weak.” He scowled. “So lay off and leave me alone.”

He turned his back on Sten and went back to digging.

“I simply say this for his own well-being.  Some aren’t meant to be soldiers.  He is not.”

Kierin’s hands tightened on the end of the axe and he ground his teeth down on his lower lip.  They weren’t soldiers.  Maybe they were Wardens but it wasn’t the same.  Not really.  From what he gleaned from Ostagar, soldiers had a rigid set of orders and a chain of command.  They were just a bunch of elves that took direction from an older sister type.

“Then why are you still here?” he demanded.

“The Arishok asked ‘what is the Blight?’  Unfit though you are, you are my best course in reporting back to him.”

Kierin muttered under his breath, “Sucks to your Air-shock.”

He attempted to reign in his anger and funnel it into digging the grave.  As long as Sten said nothing else and simply left, he would be fine in continuing his task.

“Under the Qun--”

Kierin dropped the axe and lunged at him.  He was big for an elf but still nowhere near the size of a Qunari.  Sten dropped him easily to the ground.  He got back onto his feet and lunged again.

“Sten said something about Theron, I think,” he heard Leliana say from the campfire.

He vaguely heard a heavy, heaved, beleaguered sigh and knew it to be Maeve.  Sten dropped him to the ground again.  Kierin stood up and went again.  He was a fairly decent brawler.  Among the warriors in his Clan, he was nearly undefeated.  But none of them were built like Sten.  He clung around his middle, trying to get him to fall.  At least as he was, clinging to his back, he couldn’t reach back and grab him again.  He tangled his legs between his in an attempt to trip him.  He was awful at underhanded fighting--leave that to the hunters--but straight forward was getting him nowhere.  He was mad.  Mad at Sten, mad at himself.

“Sten.” Maeve’s voice was closer now. “Kierin.”

Her tone made him relax his grip and slide down from Sten’s back.

“He was no trouble,” Sten said.

“Even so, he nearly killed a man in Redcliffe for speaking ill of Theron.  He’s fairly determined in that regard.”

Sten nodded and walked back to his place at the far end of camp.  Kierin watched him go, concentrating on the way his braids swung against his back to avoid looking at Maeve.  Finally, he was too aware of her looking at him and he turned, sighing.

“What?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

There was no cursory asking if he was alright.  She knew that he wasn’t.  He shook his head and turned back to the axe half-buried in earth.

“No.  I have to do this.”

Maeve gave his shoulder a squeeze and the gesture reminded him so much of Ashalle that he had to look away.  Had to concentrate on his task and what he was trying to do, now so he could avoid crying.

\--

Zevran had no idea what to do.  He had never been in a position like this.  No, that was a lie.  He remembered how he was, just after Rinna’s death.  He had been despondent, not there.  He had wanted to die.  That was why he had taken the suicide mission against the Wardens.  And now here he was.

Theron sat by him, his legs splayed out and his body slumped like a ragdoll’s.  His eyes didn’t focus on anything and his hair was down, hanging around him like a cloak.  Every now and then he would reach up and rub his arms furiously as though trying to get some substance off of him.  Zevran could barely see his face but he didn’t dare touch his hair to brush it back so he could.  Theron didn’t like people touching his hair without his permission.

They were alone at the campfire.  Maeve went to bed, finally too tired to remain awake.  Morrigan’s fire, far away, was still lit and he could only imagine what she was up to.  Kierin was behind them, still digging Tamlen’s grave.  Even so, he felt alone with him.

“My last mission with the Crows had me working with two people,” he said. “Taliesin and Rinna.  Rinna...Rinna was different.  I fell in love with her.  Foolish, yes?”

Theron didn’t react.  He stared blankly forward.

“We were told that she had sold us out, our cover was ruined.  She claimed she had not but I spit on her and let Taliesin slit her throat.”

He closed his eyes, trying to will the image away.  Speaking of it made it sound so real.  Rinna on her knees, begging him through choked tears.  Taliesin holding her by the hair so he could tilt her head back and expose her neck.  His own look of indifference.

“We found out afterwards that she had nothing to do with it.  The Crows laughed in my face.  So, I took Howe’s request.  I wanted to die and you Wardens seemed like a perfect way to go about it.”

Theron rubbed his arm again and Zevran carefully took his hand from it.  He was rubbing his skin raw.

“I say this now because I don’t know if you can still hear me and so it will be the only time I am brave enough to bring it up.” He paused.  Turned his hand around Theron’s and laced their fingers. “I think I am falling in love with you and it scares me.  I am scared of losing you like I lost Rinna.  That this is what I get for falling in love.  A fatherless son of a whore raised to be an assassin does not deserve love.”

He didn’t say it, would not say it, but Tamlen and Rinna did have something in common.  The circumstances were different but Rinna had died by his own hand.  Taliesin had held the knife but that meant nothing.  Tamlen, of course, had died by Theron’s mere hours ago.

Theron slumped to the side, his body resting against Zevran’s.  It was the first true movement from him since they had gotten him to stop screaming and got him back to the campfire.  His arms slipped around his waist and he pressed his cheek on Zevran’s shoulder.

“Hold me,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse from wailing.

Zevran wondered, then, if he had heard him but that was a trouble for a later time.  Now he just put his arms around him and held him tight.

\--

“Are you going to Redcliffe?”

Cassan stretched out on her stomach and took Ian’s hand in hers.  She spread his fingers and placed her hand against his, pressing their palms together.  His hand, of course, was far bigger than hers.

“Why?” he asked and laced their fingers.

“I dunno.  It’s a noble thing and you’re a noble.”

She took her free hand and drew it down the tendons on the back of his hand as it was joined in hers.

“Gross.  No.  I’m not going.”

Cassan nodded her understanding and curled up closer to him.  It was so very cold out and Ian was so exceedingly warm.

“So...you’ll be happy to know that Morrigan and I are no longer seeing each other,” he said.  She pretended not to notice how blatantly he changed the subject.

She perked up. “Yeah?”

He nodded and continued, “I decided that even if you said it wasn’t, it was really bothering you so I broke it off.”

Cassan looked at him and saw his tell--a small quirk on the edge of his lips.

“She got pissed at you for sleeping with both Zevran and Theron and kissed you off, didn’t she?”

Ian laughed.

“Yeah.”

She shook her head and then tucked it against the crook of his neck.  If someone had told her that she would be sharing a tent with some human Lord and actively enjoying snuggling with him months ago, she would have scoffed.

“She was mostly mad that I didn’t tell her first and I understand that.  It’s whatever.  We had fun and now we’re done.  Now you just have to slide in and pull a Devyn.”

Cassan scrunched up her nose. “Pull a what?”

“Alistair had no idea what a relationship was with a man until he met him so just...do the same with Morrigan.  Slide in all smooth and get her to realize she also fancies girls.”

She thumped him lightly on the chest but was already thinking of the possibilities.  First, though, she would have to figure out how to talk to her without getting nervous.  It wasn’t just that, though.  She was undoubtedly attracted to Morrigan but there was something--or someone--else bothering her.

“Speaking of...I think I’m kind of in love with you,” she said.

“Really?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Cassan nodded.

“Not...attracted.  Like, sexually.  I mean if you wanted me to get you off that’s whatever.  But I think I’m in love with you.  A little.”

Ian looked at her for a moment, his eyes hard to read in the dim light of the tent.  She had no idea what his reaction would be.  She didn’t even know how to react to it.  But it was something that had been building since Honnleath when he had told her he’d quit it with Morrigan just because it bothered her.

“Yeah, alright,” he said finally. “I think I’m kinda the same way.  I mean, who else is gonna call me hamhead and drag me off to kill abominations that can turn into dragons?”

She laughed and curled against him a bit more.

“This doesn’t mean I want to do sex stuff,” she said.

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

\--

Devyn was doing his best to keep himself distracted.  Only he, Maeve, and Alistair were going to Redcliffe.  Once they assessed the situation with the Arl, the others would join them at the foot of the Frostback Mountains.  Where the little “x” on the map was.  Maeve figured that it would give them time to recover from the past several days if only a few of them went back to the castle.

He had nicked several books from the library in the temple and was attempting to read one and walk at the same time.  It was proving to be difficult but it kept his mind off of what awaited them at Redcliffe.  Devyn still didn’t like or trust Eamon.  More still, him waking up would be the tipping point.  He could call the Landsmeet and he could place a bid to put Alistair on the throne.  He wondered where that left him.  He was a man and, moreover, he was an elf and a Grey Warden.  It wasn’t like they would allow them to get married, especially if Alistair was King.  He figured they could just oust Loghain from power and let Anora run the country.  If the rumors were true, she had been doing that for the past five years anyway.

Devyn continued walking and continued trying to concentrate on his book.  It was about spirits in the Fade.  He stopped when the book--and then he--bumped into something.  He glanced up to see that it was Alistair’s shield.  He held his arm spread and his shield out to stop him from walking into a tree that seemed out of place on the road.  Devyn looked around and saw that they were well off of the Imperial Highway and instead stood in a field sparsely covered in trees.  A charred structure sat on a low hill and he frowned.  This place seemed familiar.

Alistair plucked the book from his hands and said, “I’ll take that.”

Before he could squawk a reply, he tucked it into Devyn’s pack for him.  Strangely, he only used one hand to do it.  Maeve eyed them both for a moment but then the look was gone.

“Where are we?” Devyn asked.

Finally aware of his surroundings, he saw that where they were was a town.  Or it had been.  The buildings were hollowed out, burnt.  Splintering wood dangled from where it had been hewn to stone.  Thatched roofs were completely caved in.  The ground itself was charred and black, blighted.  An eerie feeling rippled through him, a sense that he had been here before.  He turned around to look back at the structure.  It was large, like it had been a tower...or a windmill.

“This is Lothering,” he said quietly.

Maeve nodded.  Devyn shuddered.  This is what Darkspawn did to a town.

“We should keep moving,” Maeve said. “I had wanted to stop here for supplies but...let’s go.”

She turned and started to leave.  Devyn let his gaze linger over the remains of the town one last time before he followed her.  Alistair trailed behind him, one hand slightly behind his back.  Devyn peeked around to see that he was worrying the petals of a rose with the flat of his thumb.

“What’s that?”

He started and looked around frantically as if he had been caught with his hand in a cookie jar and then sheepishly held the rose up.

“I was trying to find a good time but...you didn’t notice it since you were reading but.  There was a dead bush, all dead, full dead--skeletal.  But there was this rose on it.  It was probably silly to pick it...but I just thought ‘wow something beautiful can grow in all of this awfulness’ and…” His cheeks went bright red and Alistair looked like he might cry, throw up, or both. “It reminded me of you.”

“Of me?”

He nodded and handed him the rose.  Devyn looked at it as it sat in the middle of his gloved hand.  It was a beautiful rose, in full bloom.  Its petals were a deep scarlet and velvety to the touch.  He had no idea how something like that was at all like him.  He was scrawny and small and burned easily.  He had awful scars on his face and did things like reading while trekking across Ferelden.

“Yes.  Oh, it’s silly but.  I see you as the one bright light in all of this.  So.  Uh.”

Maeve had stopped up ahead and was watching them curiously.  Devyn looked down at the rose again.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“You’re beautiful,” he continued.  Apparently Alistair’s journey in learning to stand up for himself didn’t include stopping his stories a sentence earlier.  But he didn’t mind, even if what he said made him blush right back at him. “Like...wow?  I just.  Wanted to give you this.  Like I said, it’s silly.”

He shook his head and looked down at the rose. “No...it’s not.  Not at all.”

Devyn looked up and smiled.  Alistair looked so earnest standing in front of him, earnest and like he wasn’t aware of his own size and pulled him down for a kiss.  He didn’t quite believe him when he said he was beautiful.  No one said he was beautiful.  At best, he got “cute” (or, more likely, “cute for an elf”).  But standing in a dead town with a vibrant yet still-dying rose resting in his hand, he felt loved, which he reckoned was even better.

\--

Theron opened his eyes and his first thought was: So I did manage to sleep.

He was buried under blankets in his bedroll, his body sore and aching.  His head was fuzzy and his nose was clogged but that was normal.  He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair.  He felt water-logged.  Everything was muffled.

He stumbled out of the tent in a haze, blinded by the afternoon sun.  Theron squeezed his eyes shut.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had awoken so late.  Almost everyone sat at the firepit, staring at him almost expectantly.

“Would you like something to eat?” Wynne held a plate of what looked like biscuits. “Devyn made these before he left for Redcliffe.”

Theron shook his head, numb.  Everything was too much again.  Piling up over the months, suffocating him.  He loosely held his own arms and looked around helplessly.  He didn’t know how to act, what to say.  He felt like his identity was slipping away, changing like this with every new and terrible thing that happened to him.

He glanced past the tents to see a mound of dirt that hadn’t been there before.  It wasn’t piled high but it was fresh and overturned.  It ran lengthwise roughly to the size of a body.

“Tamlen,” Kierin said, “I buried him properly.  I--”

Theron felt something, then, beyond the numbness.  Anger, hot and burning in his chest and up his throat.

“You did it without me?!”

Kierin’s face fell and he looked away.  He looked partly ashamed and partly angry as if he wanted to scream back.

“I thought…” He stopped himself.

“You thought, you thought.  Just like you thought you’d just let him touch the mirror!”

Theron grabbed at his hair with both hands, pulling on it until his eyes watered in pain.

“I’m sorry!” Kierin shouted back. “Ma abelas, ma abelas, ma fucking abelas!  Is that what you need to hear, Theron?  That I messed up?  I messed everything up.  Fine!”

He turned and stomped off, his armor clanking to match his indignation.  Theron slowly let go of his hair and took several deep breaths.  He looked up to see Zevran eyeing him cautiously and he looked away, ashamed.  When he turned back towards the others, Cassan stared at him in that disarming way of hers.  He expected a barb, a jab of wit at how he was acting and how he had reacted last night.  Instead, there was a softness in the turn of her mouth.  She put a hand on his arm.

“Get your gear together,” she said softly, “We’re leaving for Orzammar soon.”

Theron nodded.  He was glad, at least, that her words were practical and didn’t attempt comfort.  He looked over at Kierin who was angrily stuffing items in a pack and frowned.  He knew something needed to be said but he had no idea what.  Instead he just went back into his tent to pack.

\--

Cassan took a deep breath and tried to think thoughts that were not murderous.  They traveled northwards to Orzammar, which would have been fine if Theron and Kierin weren’t fighting.  They also weren’t speaking to each other.  The entire atmosphere was tense and there was only so much, “Cassan, can you tell Theron to put his boots back on?” a girl could stand before she killed them both and ran screaming into the hills.  Thus, she contented herself to ignoring them both while they pretended to ignore each other and it made for a rotten time for everyone.

If she were being honest, she was a little bit concerned.  Theron and Kierin had had spats before--shit, they argued all the time--but this seemed deeper.  It definitely had to do with that elf-ghoul Theron had had to kill last night.  She only knew bits of their lives before they had come here but knew that there had been a third with them in the cave that gave them the Taint.  She supposed they finally found him.  At this point, she knew better than to say that.  Not simply because she had tempered her tongue to not say whatever came to mind but also because she didn’t want their ire turned on her.  Theron was frightening when he was mad and Kierin almost choked a man out a few weeks ago.

“We should stop off and get supplies,” Cassan said, “like...cloaks.  And scarves.  Haven was a misery for everyone.”

Kierin grunted a response that she couldn’t decide was positive or negative.  Theron said nothing.  She looked around for someone to share an exasperated look with and found nothing.  Ian, the sodding shithead, just had to stay back.  She was already yearning to get to their meeting place in the Frostback Mountains.  At least Devyn would provide conversation.  She would even settle for Alistair over the both of the Dalish at the moment.

“Alright, one of you is going to have to say something at some point if I’ve got to drag it out of you.” She flicked Theron on the elbow. “Prettyboy.  You know any place to stop for supplies?”

“We’ll find something.”

It wasn’t much but at least he was talking.  He still looked pretty wrecked and it probably had a lot more to do with last night than his fight with Kierin.  His hair was loose and not one section was braided.  Cassan tried to think of something to say.  This silence was making her teeth hurt.  More than that, though, she felt bad for him.  Out of all of them, Theron seemed to get shit on the most.  Maybe it was a way to make up for making him so unnecessarily attractive.  He could be pretty but his life had to suck.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “About...uh.”

“Tamlen,” Kierin grunted.

“Ta--”

Theron let out a hissing sound that cut her off.

“You don’t get to talk about him.”

“I buried him!”

“Without me!  And you killed him!”

Kierin threw his arms out in exasperation.

“He touched the mirror his damn self, Theron.  And, if I recall, you killed him.”

Cassan didn’t see the punch but she certainly heard it.  And, after it, Kierin’s head snapping back.  His hands cupped over his mouth and he made a muffled sound of distressed pain.  Theron spun on his foot--that was still in his boot, thank the Maker--and stomped off.  Kierin lowered his hands.

“Lethallin, wait!”

“Fuck off!”

He continued stomping and Kierin jogged after him, blood dripping from his split lip.  Cassan stared after them.

“Uh, right.  Well, they’re talking...shit.”

\--

Leliana felt ill at ease.  She had not been fully honest with Maeve and she knew that the other woman knew it.  She held the tarp that had been her tent in her hands and sighed.  They were all taking apart their camp.  If Eamon came through, they would possibly need to relocate somewhere for the Landsmeet.  On top of that, the Darkspawn knew they were here now.  The tasks of taking tents down and packing up kept her mind off of the temple and what Maeve did and did not know.  Now they were complete and until they received word to leave, she was alone with her thoughts.

She looked around for someone not in the midst of packing up and saw that the others were all occupied.  Even Morrigan was helping that skinny mage who had come from the Circle with packing up their lyrium.  Everyone was busy--no, not everyone.  Leliana frowned.  Someone was missing.  She wondered how she missed this before, since the person missing would have been very conspicuous.  She bent down and picked up her bow and quiver, intent on finding them.  It gave her another distraction, at least, from the thoughts dancing through her head.

Ian was easy enough to find.  She followed the smell of dog breath to Meat who was panting excitedly as he watched Ian shoot at a target.

“You’re supposed to be helping us take down the camp.”

Leliana leaned her bow and quiver against the tree where he had affixed the target.  It was a roll of parchment with a crude drawing of who she assumed was Howe on it.  She heard that this was how he vented his frustration.  Still, she felt the need to be teasing.  Anything for a distraction.  She came up to him and drew the tip of her finger along the swell of his bare upper arm.

“You should be using these muscles to help us lift things,” she said, “Zevran’s rather bad at it.”

She didn’t mention that Shale had no inclination to help and Sten seemed equally unwilling.  At this point, their lack of involvement was simply a statement of the obvious.

“I took down my stuff,” he said.  The dog yipped. “And Meat’s.”

Ian sounded detached, like he had forgotten to put on his mask of jocularity.  Leliana could relate.  She had spent years in one mask only to one another, more pious one.  Now, what was she?  It wasn’t unmasked, fully, like a disgraced duchess at a Ball, but something similar.

“Alright...do you mind if I join you?”

He shrugged and walked to the tree to take arrows out of the picture.

“This is a new one--old one got too full of holes.”

Leliana looked at the drawing on the tree and then back at Ian.

“You really are hurting, aren’t you?”

He grunted.  It was possibly the least he had said since he arrived with the others from Highever.

“Ian?”

He turned to her.  He dropped the arrows he had pried from the tree as well as his bow and folded his arms over his chest.

“Leliana, this is the most you’ve spoken to me since that incident with Marjolane.  So tell me what it is you want.”

“A distraction,” she answered quickly.

Ian’s eyebrows rose and he said, “What kind?”

She opened her mouth and then shut it, considering.  She had come to find him and get some kind of distraction from her own thoughts by making idle chat with Ian, which was something at which he was skilled.  Now that he was bringing it up in that blunt way of his, she almost began considering.  He had made his way through camp rather readily with several in their merry band wanting to ride the Highever pony and it would be a substantially lengthier distraction.

“The kind you’re best at.”

He looked at her for a moment, scrutinizing her face.  His eyes narrowed and his wide mouth screwed to one side as if trying to figure her out.  She almost asked that if he found anything, he would let her know.

“You sure?”

She nodded. “Yes.  Definitely.”

“Alright.” He turned to the dog and said, “Meat, watch our things.”

He offered her his arm and Leliana took it.  As she did, she realized something.

“I don’t have a tent,” she said.

“I do.  I lied about putting my things up.” He grinned and, with his hair falling in his face and it stretched out so comically, she almost laughed.

“Good.”

\--

Redcliffe castle was a lot nicer than it had been the last time Devyn had been there.  It was a lot less corpse-y, at least.  Marginally less possessed as well.  Everyone was in the throne room, speaking to what mages remained to perform the ritual with the ashes.  He watched Maeve speak to Lady Isolde and Teagan and Alistair lean awkwardly against the wall, rubbing his finger under his nose.  Devyn set his jaw and walked away.  He was small and his armor was made of ironbark so it didn’t clank as much as regular plate.  He slipped out of the throne room and made his way down the hall.  He tried to remember where the door was to the stairs.  He lucked out and the first door he opened led up to a darkened stairway.

He walked up and picked the grandest door to be the Arl’s room.  He was right.  Eamon lay stretched out on his bed and Devyn went to stand over him.  He thought he looked awful.  Loghain was older than he was and, despite apparently never seeing a bed for several months, looked a fair amount better.  Eamon was gray and his face was heavily lined and Devyn didn’t buy that it was solely because of the poisoning.

He folded his arms over his chest and set his jaw once more.

“Hello,” he said, “I don’t know if you can hear me but it doesn’t matter if you can or not.  I want to talk to you before they wake you up and you start getting everything in motion.”

He made his way up the length of his large bed and more towards the pillow.

“I don’t like you.  You’re another noble with power and I don’t trust you.  I don’t trust you from what Alistair’s told me about how you treated him growing up.  I know everything is going to change when you wake up and part of me is really afraid.”

He turned and picked up one of the pillows that wasn’t resting on Eamon’s head.  He held it in both hands and hovered it above his face.

“I could do this, you know.  I could just press this down until you stopped breathing and say the poison did you in.  I could punch your throat and feel it break under my fingers.  I could so easily kill you and stop all of this.”

Devyn let it stay there for an extra moment before placing it back on the bed.

“I’m not going to,” he said, “but if you can hear anything in there, I hope you remember this and what I’m capable of and what I didn’t do.”

Maybe it was immature but it made him feel better.  He turned and left the room.  At the door, he paused and looked back at his prone form.

“Looking forward to seeing you soon,” he said in a sickly sweet voice.

\--

A breath Alistair hadn’t known he had been holding for months came out when Eamon walked into the throne room.  He stumbled and Teagan had to grab onto him before he fell but it was him.  Color was returning to his face and he was looking better with each shaky step.  Teagan eased him into the throne and Eamon’s shoulders relaxed.

He looked over them before his eyes settled on Alistair.  Alistair squirmed a little under his gaze.  It was the gaze of expectation.  Eamon knew of his past and where that could lead him.  He moved his stare from Alistair to Devyn and, for some reason, he shuddered a little and then adopted a confused look as if he wasn’t sure why.

“Hello, Wardens,” he said, voice weak and dry from disuse.  Still, it was reassuring to hear it again.

Alistair reached out and took Devyn’s hand to give it a squeeze.  Isolde noticed and frowned slightly but didn’t say anything.

“We need to call the Lansdmeet,” Maeve said, “I don’t wish to hurry you, Arl Eamon, but we need to be on our way to Orzammar to secure our last allies for aid against the Blight.”

As she spoke, she didn’t sound like their minder and older sister figure but like a true leader, a future Warden-Commander.  Alistair thought she sounded a bit like Duncan, actually.

Eamon nodded, one hand stroking down his beard.

“Yes.  When you return, we will head to Denerim and I will call the Landsmeet.” He coughed and then straightened. “My apologies.  Remnants of the illness linger.”

Maeve turned her hand out and smiled politely.

“No need to apologize, ser.  You have been through a great ordeal.”

Devyn snorted and rolled his eyes and she turned to glare at him.  Alistair looked at him and he smiled.  He figured it had to do with Maeve being so formal and not anything to do with that argument they had had a few weeks back.

“Thank you for your understanding but before you go, we need to discuss the Landsmeet.” He turned his gaze back to Alistair.

“Oh no,” he whispered under his breath.

“We may need to put in a bid for Alistair to be on the throne.”

He dropped his arm and let it fall from Devyn’s hand.  He knew it was coming but it was still hard to hear.

“He is Maric’s son--he should be on the throne.”

“Doesn’t anyone care what I think?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Devyn said, fixing Eamon with a stare. “Isn’t it Alistair’s decision?”

Maeve looked between her cousin and the Arl and seemed to read the situation.  She cleared her throat and turned back to the throne.

“This is a discussion for a later time,” she said, “We will take our leave and allow Bann Teagan and Lady Isolde to fill you in on what you missed.”

Eamon nodded and waved a hand.

“Yes.  Gather your allies--oh.” He straightened his back in the throne and added, “Redcliffe’s forces are yours should you want them.”

He smiled a crinkle-eyed grin at them and Maeve bowed her head.

“Thank you, ser.”

They turned and left.  Alistair’s stomach began churning and he felt like he was going to throw up.  He reached out for Devyn again and was glad when his hand was grabbed.  He looked over his shoulder and saw Eamon staring at their joined hands with an odd expression on his face.  Alistair wondered what it meant.  More pressingly, he was worried about the currently tabled discussion for his bid for the throne and what that meant for his future.  He had promised not to let other people push him around anymore but how could he say no to the Arl?

“De--”

“Should we get new cloaks when we go to Orzammar?” he asked, speaking quickly and cutting him off. “We’ve got coin.  I figure we probably should.  And maybe some scarves.”

Alistair shut his mouth and nodded.  Maybe whatever was bothering him did have to do with their past argument.  He let Maeve lead the way out of the castle and pulled him to the side.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Is it Eamon?”

Devyn smiled broadly and blinked his eyes rapidly.  Alistair knew he was lying before he even spoke.

“Not at all.”

“Devyn…”

He sighed and looked down at his feet as he walked.

“I don’t know.  I don’t trust nobles, Al.  Something about him just bothers me and I don’t think that’ll go away.”

Alistair took it in and nodded.  He bit his lip and released it before he spoke.

“I get that...well, I don’t but I’ll try to.  Eamon is a good man, though.  I owe him a lot.”

Devyn bit the inside of his cheek but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll try,” he said, “for you.  But…”

“It won’t be easy.” He grinned a bit. “I get it.  Thanks.”

Devyn smiled back uneasily.  It was the end of the discussion for now but he was certain it would come up again after the Landsmeet.  Actually, he was starting to get the suspicion that Eamon would be a sore point in their relationship in the foreseeable future.

\--

The scene outside the gates to Orzammar was a mess.  Maeve couldn’t believe what she was seeing.  Neither, it appeared, did the shopkeepers that set up outside the steps.  Surface dwarves and the few human purveyors stood in shock at the scene taking place.  Maeve made her way towards Cassan, her stomping downplayed by the way she had to trudge through the snow.  She grabbed her thin shoulder and spun her around.

“Explain.”

She sighed and tucked a flyaway strand of black hair behind her ear.

“Believe me, this is better than it was before.”

Maeve pinched the bridge of her nose.

“What happened?” She paused before adding, “And why does Kierin have a split lip?”

“Well, after you left, Theron found out that Kierin buried Tamlen without him and they had a fight and stopped talking.  Then, on the way here, Kierin went too far like he always does and Theron punched him in the face.  Then they went back to not speaking to each other and then they got here and Kierin said--shit, I don’t even remember what he said--and Theron pelted him with a snowball and then it just escalated.”

At the moment, Kierin and Theron were wrestling in the snow, smearing handfuls of it on each other’s faces.

“My money’s on Kierin, honestly,” Cassan added. “He’s so much bigger and stronger.”

Devyn came up and shook his head.

“No, Theron.  He fights dirty.”

Maeve tweaked both of their ears.  She stomped forward and grabbed both of them by the shoulders.  She pried them apart as best she could despite being shorter than them both.  She got a good grasp on Kierin but Theron kept thrashing.  She tried not to grab his hair since that would only make him angrier.

“Devyn!  Help me!”

He came into the fray and grabbed Kierin by the midsection and hauled him up over his shoulder.  Maeve concentrated on Theron and got him to his feet.  She held him back, one arm across his chest.

“Both of you!” she snapped. “Stop this now.  Whatever problems you’re having?  Forget them.  We need to get the treaties taken care of and end this.  Got it?”

Devyn turned around so Kierin’s face was towards her.  He looked pissed off and miserable, which wasn’t far off from his natural expression of grumpiness.

“Got it?” she repeated.

They nodded in odd unison, glaring at each other.

“Good.  Now I’m letting you go.  If you go back to fighting, I swear I will kill you both.”

She let go of Theron and Devyn dropped Kierin into the snow.  Thankfully, they didn’t go back to tearing at each other’s throats.  They weren’t speaking, though, and that still troubled her.  Still, little steps.

“Now let’s go to Orzammar and get this over with,” she said with a wear sigh.

Without waiting for an answer, she took off towards the great stone doors.  She had a feeling that behind them was only going to be more trouble.

\--

Nothing could be easy.  It was their lot in life.  Orzammar was in disarray.  Their King was dead and their assembly was deadlocked on picking a successor.  Endrin’s youngest son, Bhelan, desired the throne but after the mysterious death of his two siblings--which led to that of his father--it was suspected that he had a hand in it.  Lord Harrowmount was the King’s trusted friend and evidently his own choice for the throne.  But with no actual evidence of that being his decision, it left the deshyrs in a bind.

“So,” Cassan said, cocking a brow, “Let me get this right: the assembly wants us--us, four elves and a human who have no idea how dwarven politics work--to help choose the ruler of their throne?”

Maeve nodded.  It was rather preposterous to her as well but so long as they got their troops, she didn’t care.  The attack on camp was another step closer.  Soon, the Archdemon would appear on the surface and she had no idea what to do when that time came.

“Great,” Devyn whimpered.  He looked even paler than usual and was leaning heavily against Alistair. “We get to spend more time down here.”

Maeve bit her lip.  Another reason she didn’t want to be in Orzammar any longer than they had to be.  As they all expected, the closed in nature of the city made her cousin ill and anxious.  The ceilings were tall and vaulted but she could tell that that comforted him none at all.

“So we just pick one?” Alistair asked. “Eenie meenie miney dwarf?”

“I say Bhelan.” Theron lifted his head and spoke for the first time since Maeve broke up the earlier fight. “He at least doesn’t look like he’s about to die any second.”

Kierin snorted and said, “And he probably killed his brothers.  Harrowmount at least seems honest.”

Maeve had a suspicion that Kierin only put forth his support for Harrowmount to be contrary to whatever Theron said.  Still, he made a good point.  Harrowmount did seem honest.  But how could they even know?  The fact that the assembly was trusting them with this made her head spin.

“We have to get the assembly on our side anyway,” she said, “They mentioned something about paragons and decisions so we just back one and then see where it goes.”

“What are their platforms?” Devyn asked from his position firmly against Alistair’s side.

“I...have no idea.”

Maeve rubbed her temples.  This situation just got worse and worse.

“We’ll talk to Harrowmount first,” she said. “He at least seems approachable.  We’ll figure it out from there.”

\--

Kierin stared down the dwarven warrior before him and cursed under his breath.  Approaching Harrowmount was a bad idea.  Now they had to compete in a “Proving” against a bunch of fighters in his name.  Adding insult to injury, the man out front who signed everyone up signed him up as “the Warden.”  He claimed that elven names were a mouthful to say.  He didn’t even know why he was the one chosen to fight.  Well, no, he did.  He was a warrior and the most intimidating-looking out of all of them.

He would have rather not been their contender at all but Maeve decided and he was and he was sick of getting into fights today.  At least with his fellow Wardens.  He honestly had no idea how to make things right with Theron.  His lip was still swollen and stung whenever he moved his mouth.

Kierin held his sword in front of him with both hands and focused on the task at hand.  Apparently he just had to draw blood and then the fight would be over.  He wished that the same went for this whole ordeal in Orzammar.  Something told him that this was going to be their biggest ordeal yet.  He would almost take being in the Fade again.

“Begin!” the announced cried.

The warrior in front of him grunted and lunged towards him.  Kierin sidestepped him and hit him in the back of the head with the pommel of his sword.

“Fuck this,” he grumbled.

As far as he was concerned, the sooner they were out of Orzammar, the better.

\--

“How can Orzammar do anything?” Cassan asked.

The merchant ignored her but Theron, who she was speaking to anyway, just shrugged.  Not only had Kierin won the Proving but they had just destroyed a criminal organization.  Granted, the tunnels they had run through to bring down this Jarvia had left Devyn positively green.  He was currently vomiting his guts out in front of the tavern while Alistair stroked the back of his neck.

Cassan reached forward and picked out a gold-framed mirror.

“Do you think Morrigan would like this?” she asked.  She had decided to take Ian’s advice to heart and start being more forthright with her feelings.

Theron leaned over and gazed at his own reflection in the glass.  He purses his lips and brushed some hair from his face.

“I like it,” he said, batting his eyelashes.

She jerked the mirror away and elbowed him in the arm.  At least he was somewhat back to normal.  She was glad.  She felt bad when he was all shocked and out of it.  It wasn’t even an annoyance thing.  She was legitimately worried about him.  He and Kierin still weren’t talking but that currently had no bearing on her.  She turned to the merchant and held up the mirror.

“How much?”

He told her the price and Cassan counted out the right amount of coins.  They were sitting on a rather impressive stash of money and she hadn’t even realized it.

“So now we have to go on some trek into the Deep Roads to find someone who might not even be alive?” Theron asked.  He made a noise of disgust by puffing air through his teeth. “Great.”

Maeve came over with a pinched expression on her face.  Cassan looked over at Devyn’s sickly pallor and how he was more or less propped up against Alistair and knew what was coming.

“We’re taking him topside,” she said. “Can you three handle this?”

Cassan knew it was coming the second he nearly passed out in front of those two dwarves they liberated from Jarvia’s prison.  It was still annoying, though.

“You’re leaving me with them?” she asked incredulously.

“You’re all adults,” Maeve insisted. “Anyway, remember we’re backing Harrowmount and just try not to die.”

Cassan had a feeling that she really meant “make sure Kierin and Theron don’t kill each other.”

\--

Oghren had heard about the Wardens being in Orzammar.  Even a worthless drunk like him would have heard about a gaggle of elves and a human blundering their way through the city.  Now he heard old beardymount was sending them to find Branka.  And here he thought he was the only one who still cared.  True it was to put an ass on the throne but he’d take it.  Now he just had to find those Wardens.

Oghren wandered by the entrance to the Deep Roads, figuring that Wardens meant Deep Roads and they had to end up here.  Sure enough, he saw three elves approaching the entrance.  Half of the party was gone but three Wardens were three Wardens and they were who he was looking for.

“There y’are!” he shouted.

The elf to the left crinkled his nose and waved a hand in front of it.

“What’s that stench?”

“Could be my breath,” Oghren said with a throaty--and a bit phlegmy--laugh.

“Gross.” The only blond elf in the trio scowled and said, “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Name’s Oghren--”

“Already bored,” the smallest elf in the middle of the trio said with a roll of her eyes.

He ignored her and kept going.

“Branka was my wife.”

“Wait.”

The first elf who spoke and asked about the smell furrowed his brow.  He flipped some long, shiny-looking hair over his shoulder and turned his hand out.

“Your wife went and took her entire...clan--”

“House,” Tiny corrected.

“Like it matters--she took all of them and left you?” he started laughing.

Oghren grumbled.  Yeah, they picked up on that alright.

“Listen,” he growled. “I’m coming with ya to find her.”

They exchanged a look amongst themselves before the big blond one shrugged.

“Whatever.  Knock yourself out.  Just don’t stink up the tunnels.”

\--

Devyn sat outside Orzammar, taking deep breaths to steady himself.  He was pathetic.  What kind of Grey Warden was he?  He couldn’t even deal with being underground.  Maeve sat next to him, her hand stroking him through his armor.  Alistair hovered nearby.  Maeve had been acting odd--more overprotective than usual--so he was a bit of a distance.  That was confusing.  Everything was confusing.  Now the entire fate of Orzammar was now in the hands of Theron, Kierin, and Cassan.

“You alright?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Whatever.”

“It’s fine.  No one blames you.”

“Whatever.”

Maeve didn’t speak for a moment.  She looked past Devyn towards Alistair who stood in that way of his where he looked like he wasn’t able to deal with his size and height.

“I’m going to say something that’s really embarrassing.” She sighed and rushed her fingers through her tight curls before speaking again. “I’m kind of jealous of Alistair.”

Devyn jerked his head up and pulled a face.

“Ew!”

She tweaked his nose. “Not like that!”

“Then what do you mean?”

Maeve sighed and looked back at the guard in front of Orzammar’s gates as if he would have any sort of answer.

“Well...I was used to being the one who looked out for you and now he’s here and.  I don’t know.  That was my purpose--you and Soris and Shianni.  And now there’s someone else and even if he’s a human, he’s...kind.  He cares for you.  It’s strange.”

“Because of the men I used to take to bed?”

Maeve turned back and cracked a smile.

“Partly.  It takes some getting used to.”

Devyn nodded and leaned against her a little.  His head had stopped pounding and his stomach wasn’t churning but his throat was raw, still, from throwing up.  He felt better, though.  At least physically.  He still felt like fairly pathetic.  It had been ten years, he should be over it and yet he wasn’t.  His fear was as permanent as the scars on his face, it seemed.

“That isn’t your purpose,” he said, “You’re our leader.  You’re gonna help rebuild the Wardens when this is over, I know it.  You don’t have to worry about your baby cousin anymore.”

Maeve nudged him a little.

“I always will.” She paused for a moment and then ruffled his hair. “And don’t feel bad about what happened in Orzammar.  It happens.  It doesn’t make you less of a Warden.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

He knew it, deep down, but it was still pathetic.  Bad enough that he was the youngest but what kind of Warden couldn’t stand being underground?

“Seriously.” She squeezed him. “Now go.  I think Alistair’s about to pass out from trying to restrain himself.”

Devyn nodded and got up.  He tucked himself in Alistair’s arms and let him drop a kiss on his head.

“You doing better?” he asked. “I, uh, was trying really hard not to eavesdrop.”

He nodded and tilted his face up to smile at him.

“Yeah...or, getting there?  Maybe.”

Alistair laughed.  Devyn really had no idea.  He still thought he was a sorry excuse for a Warden but it wasn’t something he could help.  Maeve’s talk didn’t fix everything but he reckoned life didn’t work that way.  At least she would stop being weird about him and Alistair.  He figured that was a start, at least.

\--

Cassan was beginning to think that Duncan oversold the Grey Wardens to them all and glossed over some very important things.  Like Broodmothers.  The second a tentacle wrapped around Kierin’s ankle and drew him up in the air, she was done.  Fuck being a Warden.  No wonder pipsqueak didn’t want to come down here.  Luckily, the thing was dead and Kierin didn’t end up being eaten by it.  Well, Cassan reconsidered, maybe that wasn’t so lucky.

Theron and Kierin were no longer actively trying to kill one another but they still weren’t speaking.  The entire fight was so old, it was as dead as that Broodmother.  They even kept up the act when they confronted Branka, when they killed her and got Caridin to make a crown for them.

“So are they brothers?” Oghren asked.

“Shut up,” Cassan grumbled. “And no.”

She didn’t mind Oghren, not really.  He made some gross comments but he was easy to ignore.  She also figured that he was pretty torn up about Branka’s death.  The woman they found--a shadow of who she was who turned her lover and her House into food and Darkspawn machines--probably ripped him up inside.  She figured.  Cassan knew nothing about him except he smelled like a tavern floor.

“What are they fighting about?”

“It’s a long story.”

Truth be told, Cassan wasn’t even sure it was about Tamlen anymore.  Whatever was going on between the two of them went deeper than what happened a few days ago.

“It’s because Kierin’s jealous of me,” Theron said with an air of self-assurance.

Kierin turned to glare at him.

“What?” he demanded. “I am not!”

“Oh, please!  You’ve been jealous of me since the day you came to our Clan.” Theron’s eyes were flashing and he looked downright dangerous.  Cassan slid over behind Oghren.  He was shorter than her but wide enough to make a good hiding spot.

“I am not!” Kierin repeated. “Do you think that’s why I buried Tamlen without you?  Some jealousy thing?  That doesn’t even make sense!”

They came to a stop and Cassan sighed.  She moved from her spot behind Oghren and sat down on a rock.  This honestly could take a while.

“No but it’s always there.  Always has been.  You were jealous of me because I had Tamlen and now I have Zevran and you’re jealous that people want me and not you.”

Kierin’s face went purple with rage and Cassan flexed her fingers.  She was only so-so at barrier magic but if it kept the two of them from ripping each other’s heads off, she was willing to try.

“That isn’t true!” he screamed.  At this rate, they were going to summon more Darkspawn.  But, then again, maybe even they had the good sense not to get involved.  Kierin took a deep, shaky breath and then spoke a bit more calmly. “Alright, maybe a little.  Things come easily to you.  People want you, the Clan loves you...maybe I’m a little jealous of that.”

Theron scoffed and made a sweeping hand motion away from himself.

“Things come easily?  Kee, I am sick all the time.  I can’t deal with battle without falling into shock.  Things don’t ‘come easily’ for me.  The one thing that does is people’s attention because of my looks.  Not like you, future Hahren.  Knowing all our lore.  Showing us all up in lessons.”

Kierin set his jaw out and folded his arms.  Cassan had to admit that Theron had a good point.  It seemed like the Maker--or his own pantheon of Gods--seemed determined to make up for gifting him with those good looks by having terrible things happen to him almost constantly.

“Do you know why I do that?” he asked, his voice pitching up. “Why I try so hard?  Why I can never relax?”

She knew that this definitely was no longer about Tamlen.  Oghren looked at her in confusion and she fielded it with a shrug.  She had no idea what was going on now.  A piece was missing from her side of this entire altercation.

“Why I’m so...so jealous of you, lethallin?” Kierin sounded almost on the verge of tears and that was a new one. “Because I’m not Dalish!”

His voice broke off on the end of the sentence and when he began speaking again, the accent that sounded like Theron’s was gone.  He had the same eastern Fereldan accent that Devyn and Maeve had.

“I’m a fucking flat-ear!  Alright?  My parents were killed by bandits and I ran to get away from them.  I ended up at the Arlathvhen and that’s where you found me.  I pretended to be Dalish because I was scared.  I was scared of what those bandits would do and what all the Clans would do.  Those awful stories they tell about us--them.”

Kierin really was crying now.  His face was bright red and tears coursed down his cheeks.

“That’s why I try so hard!  But it doesn’t--it doesn’t matter!  No matter how much I listen, no matter how much I learn, I’m never Dalish enough.  I never will be.  I won’t be you or Tamlen or-or Merrill or anyone who is truly of the People!  I’m a fucking fake!  A flat-ear playing pretend!”

Theron wasn’t saying anything.  He stood there with his arms folded loosely.  Cassan was honestly surprised.  It took a lot to surprise her and this was...out of nowhere.  Out of the both of them, Kierin was the Proud Dalish Elf, especially at first.  He had looked down on them, the sodding hypocrite.

“So, yeah.  That’s what it is.  And you’re right.  I had no right to bury Tamlen without you.  I have no right to do anything.”

He swiped at the tears dripping down his face with gloved hands, rubbing them raw.  Cassan looked at Theron.  She was surprised but he had to be devastated.  He had known Kierin for years.  To find out after all that time that he had been lying?

“Well?” Kierin prompted, voice shaking.  This voice, his real voice as it was, was odd to hear.

Theron looked at him for a long while.  He blinked his eyes once and then twice and then drew in a breath to speak.

“I knew,” he said finally.

Kierin looked like whatever bottom of his world was left just dropped out of him.  Cassan got up off of her rock, ready to attempt to catch him if he fell.

“W-what?”

“I knew,” Theron repeated. “I knew you weren’t really Dalish.”

Oghren grumbled something about elf drama and started picking his teeth with the corner of his battleaxe.  Cassan, meanwhile, was a bit shocked herself.  Theron always seemed too self-absorbed to key into others’ pain.  But, then again, with the exception of the past several days, she hadn’t spent that much time with him.

“How?  When?” Kierin demanded.

“Almost the whole time.  There were little things.  Your accent slipped a lot at first and you didn’t know really common words we used in the Clan.  I put it together.  I don’t think anyone else noticed...except maybe Ashalle.  But I never said anything to her.”

“Why?”

Theron gestured to his face.

“Dirthamen the secret keeper,” he explained.

Kierin shook his head as if that didn’t add up to him.

“No, but you never said anything.  Why?”

Theron shrugged. “It didn’t matter to me.  You know how I feel about Dalish elves and non-Dalish elves.”

Cassan knew that part.  Theron was always against Kierin’s better than thou attitude towards them, vocally chastising him when he called them flat-ears and how he was way more open about sharing Dalish culture than Kierin ever was.

“But--why?” he repeated. “If it didn’t matter to you, then why did you say nothing?  And don’t say anything about Dirthamen again.”

Theron smiled, then, for the first time in days.

“Because, lethallin, I knew it mattered to you.”

Kierin’s jaw dropped and he looked so shocked that he actually stopped crying.  Theron approached him and took his hands in his.

“It’s okay,” he said, “about Tamlen.  I’m...I think I’ll be okay with learning to let him go.  And I’m glad that he was at least properly honored.  Ma serannas, lethallin.”

He gave Kierin’s hands a squeeze and then started back down the tunnel.

“Come on.  We have a King to crown.”

Cassan wasn’t sure what happened but she got up off of her rock regardless and started walking.  Oghren got up with a grunt and followed, shaking his head.  Kierin followed at the rear.  He dragged his feet and seemed almost physically smaller.  As they neared Caridin’s Cross, he put his hand on her arm to get her attention.

“Cassan,” he whispered.  That voice was going to take some getting used to, she decided. “I think I’m in love with Theron.”

She blinked at him rapidly for a few moments before saying, “No shit.”

\--

On one hand, Maeve was glad to be done with Orzammar.  She was glad to have their troops and even more glad that this apparent Anvil of the Void was destroyed.  On the other hand, she was furious.

“Harrowmount!” she shouted. “I told you all: Harrowmount!”

“Yeah, about that,” Theron said. “We talked around and apparently Bhelan wants to make the caste system less awful and give more rights to surface dwarves and that seemed alright.  So we chose him.”

Cassan and Kierin nodded their agreement.

“Happened without bloodshed, anyway,” the redheaded dwarf they brought with them added. “That was new.”

“And who are you?” she demanded.

“Oghren.”

Maeve shook her head.  She knew that she shouldn’t have left the three of them alone.  But what was done was done and it would be a problem for later.

“Fine, whatever.  We can talk about it on the way to Redcliffe.”

Kierin raised his brows.

“Arl is awake?”

“The Arl,” she corrected. “And yes.  So let’s go.”

She jerked her head towards the snowy path that led away from the Frostback Mountains.  As a group, they left.

Behind her, she heard Alistair turn to her cousin and ask, “Does Kierin sound different to you?”

 


	18. Chapter 18

As they left Orzammar, Maeve was aware of a new and distinct sound that came as they walked.  It was an extra sort of crunch in the snow but not loud enough to be the footfall of anyone in their group.  The snow also dragged as if if someone was dragging themselves through it.  She stopped, everyone stopped, and the noise stopped.  Furrowing her brow, she glanced back over them behind her.  She saw nothing amiss and kept walking.  The sound resumed.

Maeve stopped and turned around.  This time the source of the noise was evident.  A small creature trailed behind Theron at the back of the group.  It was pink, covered in downy fur, and resembled a cross between a pig and a rabbit.

"What is that ugly thing and why is it following us?" she asked tiredly.

Theron widened his eyes and said, "Excuse you, his name is Oghren."

"She meant the nug, prettyboy," he growled but his tone was jocular as if he took no offense.  Maeve didn't quite get him.

Theron bent down and scooped the creature into his arms.

“Nug,” he said in a contemplative voice.  The creature nosed his neck and he squirmed. “Ah, ah, cold!”

Kierin took the nug from him and held it.

“It’s soft,” he remarked.

“We aren’t keeping it,” Maeve said.

Oghren spat on the ground and said, “They taste good.”

“...We aren’t eating it either.”

Theron looked at the nug’s beady black eyes and frowned.

“I’m going to give it to Leliana.”

“Why?” Kierin asked.

“Well, the only people other than you all that I talk to are her, Ian, and Zevran.  And Ian already has a dog.  And--I’m just giving it to her.  I think she’d like it.”

He cut off abruptly and became suddenly interested in braiding a section of his hair.  Maeve figured it out in an instant: he was worried about giving it to Zevran as it would appear to be a lover’s token.  She didn’t know the details of their relationship but it wasn’t like Alistair and her cousin’s.  Theron marched ahead leaving Kierin behind holding the nug.  He didn’t seem to mind, though, his usual scowl gone off of his face.  Instead he just looked confused.  Maeve didn’t question it.  She was glad that the two of them were speaking again and no longer trying to thrash one another.  Plus, Kierin had just admitted that he wasn’t truly a Dalish elf to all of them.  He probably had a lot on his mind.

They commenced walking once more.  The nug was forgotten save for the snuffling sounds it made that mingled with the crunching of their boots on snow.

“So are you from Denerim?” Devyn asked.

Kierin lifted his lip in scorn--the effect of which was ruined by the nug he cradled so gently in his arms.

“No.  Further south,” he said.  He looked like he wasn’t going to say more but then spoke again. “My father was a woodcutter and his boss let us rent a small cottage in the woods.”

Theron turned and looked at him.

“Was it really a bear?” he asked.

Maeve didn’t know what he meant by that.  Kierin did, though, and shook his head.

“No.  Bandits.”

Theron nodded and turned back around.  There was something else going on that Maeve couldn’t quite figure out.  Kierin was looking at Theron--or the back of his head as it were--with a strange look on his face.  It was a cross between befuddlement and a sort of yearning.  His eyebrows turned up and his face took on a whole new look that was different from his usual set jaw and scowl.  She saw him look at Theron, down at the nug he held, and back at him before sighing.

She decided to pay it no further mind.  There were other, more pressing things, coming up.  They had fulfilled their treaties and Arl Eamon was going to call the Landsmeet.  The Archdemon knew they were here.  She had a feeling that everything was going to begin to happen at once.  Maeve just hoped they were ready.

\--

Theron was not impressed with this Arl Eamon.  The last time they had been in Redcliffe, he had gone to sleep as he had been so exhausted from the night before.  He had never seen him.  What he saw now was...uninspiring.  This shem was supposed to be powerful enough to call the Landsmeet?  He wasn’t really sure what a Landsmeet was but it sounded properly fancy enough that he was unimpressed with this supposed wielder of power.

“Welcome, Wardens,” he said in a croaky sort of voice.

“How old are you?” Theron asked.

Eamon looked taken aback.  That obviously wasn’t the question he was expecting.

“Forty-five, about,” he said with uncertainty.

Theron widened his eyes.  Eamon looked awful for that age.  His skin was creased and he had gray hair and no one seemed to mention it so he didn’t think it was from the poison.

“Really?” he asked, “wow, shemlen age like fruit.”

“Theron!” Maeve snapped angrily.

Eamon looked at him in disdain and Theron fought the urge to stick his tongue out at him.  Not truly for any respect for Eamon but because he didn’t want Maeve to get mad at him again.

“Any...way,” he said and cleared his throat. “It is best that we head for Denerim immediately.  I will call the Landsmeet soon after we arrive.  With the Blight as much as a threat as it is, we can’t waste any time.”

Maeve nodded.

“I agree.  And we thank you for your support, don’t we?”

She looked amongst them.  Alistair nodded.  Oghren was disinterested.  Devyn stood with his arms crossed and with a pissed look on his face.  Cassan and Kierin both shrugged.  Theron made no motion either way.  He was tired after Orzammar.  He glanced over at Kierin.  He had to be even more exhausted, getting all that out.  He was glad it was done with, though.  He figured that he’d be a lot happier now that the truth was out.  As Eamon kept talking, he let his mind wander.  It did, as it often did these days, go to Zevran.  He wasn’t sure where they left off.  He distantly remembered him telling him a story about a woman named Rinna.  He told him the story and then he...told him he loved him.  The thought still scared him.  Tamlen was gone, he knew that.  He had had to kill him himself.  He had to start moving on but admitting his love for Zevran still worried him.  It was a large step and one that he was afraid to take.

He snapped back to attention as Eamon finished speaking.  Maeve smiled politely and Theron knew that smile.  She was not happy with whatever he said.

“I understand your...haste, my Lord,” she said in her best placating voice, “but we have traveled all the way from Orzammar.  Would it perhaps be alright if we rest a night before making the journey to Denerim?”

Eamon stroked his beard and nodded.  To Theron, it looked like the gesture he had always pictured in his head for shemlen kings.  Sitting in their thrones and stroking their beards while they nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, of course.  We can put you up in the guest wing.  I fear there might not be enough rooms for you to each have your own, however.”

“We can share,” Alistair blurted out.  His arm was around Devyn’s shoulders.

Eamon looked at them both and squinted his eyes as if trying to figure it out.  Right.  He wanted Alistair to be King--which was a terrible idea if Theron had ever heard one and what he knew about shemlen politics could hardly fill a thimble--and if Alistair’s lover was a man--let alone an elf and a Grey Warden--it would cause a stir.  He rolled his eyes.  Shemlen bullshit, as always.  Still, he didn’t want to make Eamon get into it now and, furthermore, he didn’t want his skepticism and fear over their coupling to force them to sleep apart.  He liked Devyn and he even liked Alistair.  They made each other happy.

“Kierin and I will stay together as well,” he said. “We Wardens are all close friends, you see.”

Kierin turned to look at him with a look of surprise, his cheeks stained red.  Theron wondered what that was about.  They had made up and, even if they hadn’t, they had shared an aravel for years.  Why was he blushing?  He still held that nug thing, too, which struck him as odd.  Kierin wasn’t an animal person.  He had helped Meat back at Ostagar because he had been told there was a reward.  Yet he was holding onto that nug for dear life.  The animal didn’t seem distressed.  In fact, it looked downright thrilled to be held.  Kierin, though, was holding it like he was lost at sea and the only thing keeping him from getting fully swept away was this nug.

He drew close to him so their shoulders bumped together.  It wasn’t strange.  When he and Kierin weren’t fighting, they always had a sort of casual intimacy.  All those in their age group.  Theron would always drape himself over Fenarel or Ineria as they rested during hunts and Merrill enjoyed hand-holding and snuggling.  Thus, he was confused when Kierin went bright red and shifted away.  Was he still upset?  Embarrassed?  Theron frowned.

“Are you alright?” he asked at a whisper.

Kierin nodded and said in a very tight, not-alright voice, “Yes.  Fine.”

“Lie down,” he advised, “and get some sleep.  You need it.”

He rubbed his shoulder against his and smiled.  Kierin smiled thinly and rubbed his chin on the nug’s back.

Later, he got him to the bed in the room Eamon provided and out of that clanking armor he wore.  Theron had no idea why Kierin favored it.  Even other warriors in their Clan didn’t wear such heavy armor.  The nug was already curled up on the rug near the hearth.  Theron was amazed that the room actually had a hearth in it.  For obvious reasons, their aravels never did.

“Get in bed,” he said.

Kierin looked at him quizzically.

“You take care of me all the time,” he said, “so let me take care of you.  You’ve had a rough few days.”

Theron turned his hand out, smiled, and decided not to mention that Kierin’s doting often annoyed him.

“Alright,” he said and scooted under the blankets.

Theron took off his thin, leather armor, but kept his leggings and the sleeveless undershirt he wore on.  He crawled in next to him and tugged some of the blankets over.  He may have been taking care of him, but he still wanted his fair share of blankets.

“I’m glad,” he said.  The only light in the room came from the hearth and it cast deep shadows on the stone walls.

“For what?” Kierin asked, his voice muffled by where his mouth was near his pillow.

“That you told the truth.  That it’s off your chest.  And I like your voice--your actual voice.”

He shifted a bit under the blankets.

“You do?”

Theron nodded, though he knew he couldn’t see him.

“Yeah.  It’s more authentic.  Now get some sleep.  We have to go to Denerim again and, lethallin, that city is the worst.”

\--

This time when Kierin dreamed, he knew where he was in the Deep Roads.  He had spent long, arduous hours tromping around in there looking for Branka, after all.  He had seen what made Darkspawn and he had found a crevasse teeming with them.

“Hey hey.”

He spun around, unsurprised to see Garahel.  His hair was tied back up again and he sat perched on a rock as if it were the most casual thing.

“What is it now?” Kierin asked impatiently.

“Checking in,” he said in a blithe voice. “Kierin, you know what you have to do, right?”

He rolled his eyes.  Of course he knew.

“I have to stop Theron from being the one to kill the Archdemon.”

“Really stop him,” Garahel said. “Hold him back.  The Archdemon has been placing a thrall on him while he sleeps.  He will be unable to resist.”

Kierin scowled.  That was fantastic.

“That’s bullshit,” he said, growling. “Just because you married someone who eventually sired Theron, he’s cursed like this?”

Garahel looked surprised.

“Married?  I didn’t marry Theron’s ancestor.”

“You said you had a family.”

He shook his head and toyed with some of the hair that dangled in front of his ear.

“No, no.  My lover was a human.  Theron’s ancestor was just someone I passed time with.”

Kierin balked.  His hands snapped into fists and he had to stop and breathe to keep himself from launching at Garahel and pummeling him senseless.

“So you’re telling me that because you couldn’t keep it in your pants, my best friend is under the Archdemon’s thrall?”

“...More or less.”

“Go fuck yourself,” he growled.

He felt himself beginning to wake up and, as he did, he heard Garahel’s voice call after him, faraway and fading.

“Is your voice different?”

Kierin awoke in the bed the Arl had given he and Theron.  Next to him, Theron slept soundly.  He breathed through his mouth since he had another head cold and his parted lips looked wet and...kissable.  Not that Kierin would ever act on it.  He had just realized that he was in love with him, after all.  Furthermore, Theron was not in love with him.  He had been in love with Tamlen and he was falling in love with Zevran but not him.  At least now he knew that prickly feeling had been jealousy.  How long had his heart known he was in love with Theron before his head caught up?  He didn’t really want to think about it.  His own feelings weren’t important.  What was important was fulfilling his promise to Garahel.  The Warden was a pain in the ass but he was helpful, at least, in telling him this.  He was not going to let Theron become a host to the Archdemon, that was for sure.  He would kill the damned thing himself, if it came to it.  He didn’t seem to see why it was such a big deal like Garahel implied.  Just stick it with a sword--done.  No more demon.

Satisfied with these thoughts, Kierin buried himself further in the blankets and let himself drift into what he hoped was a dreamless sleep.

\--

Devyn may have had reservations about nobles and he was still wary towards Eamon in particular but he had to admit that sleeping on a bed was nice.  It was a proper mattress, padded and everything.  His bed back home was stuffed with straw and poked at him when he slept.  He was under a thick duvet as well.  He patted the blankets, wondering if they were down.  They felt it--not that he would really know what down felt like but it felt soft and warm.

“You know,” he said, “we’ve never done it in a bed before.”

Alistair smiled at him in that endearing way of his.  It was his best attempt at a rakish smirk but it still made Devyn’s heart melt.

“You’re right.”

He crawled towards him and Devyn leaned forward just enough to kiss him.  It was almost as though they were playing pretend on a marriage bed.  Marriage.  The chantry would never allow it.  Had Vaughan not shown up, he would be making poor Nesiara miserable.  Instead he was a Grey Warden in a bed with his lover who had a chance of being the future King of Ferelden.

That was a matter for another time.  Right now, he had Alistair in his bed and he was intent on losing himself with him.  Devyn let him push him down on the bed so he was on top.  Though Alistair preferred receiving to giving, Devyn liked the weight of him against his chest before they did anything.  They kissed a bit more urgently, hands beginning that familiar routine of exploring one another’s bodies before they got down to it.

Devyn slipped his hands under Alistair’s smalls and began tugging them down with one hand while the other stroked the curve of his backside.  In response, he moaned into his mouth, pressing down harder against him.  Alistair then pulled away for a moment and he saw that he was blushing.

“Um...do you remember what happened before we got to the Tower?” he asked.

Devyn furrowed his brow.  He knew Alistair was bad at dirty talk but this was ridiculous.

“No?”

“What Theron did to that Templar?” he persisted.  The blush deepened.

“Oh!”

Now he remembered and, thus, remembered Alistair’s confusion afterwards.

“You mean he sucked him off?”

A nod.

“What about it?”

Alistair wiggled a bit on top of him and glanced to the side before looking back at him.

“I wanted to...try it.  To put...yours in my mouth.”

“You do?”

Another nod.

“Alright, um, get off me.  It’ll be more comfortable for us both if we’re sitting.”

Alistair scrambled off of him and pushed his smalls all the way off.  Devyn figured it was that or leave them tangled between his thighs.  He slipped his own off and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Here, if you kneel on the ground it’ll be easier.”

He nodded, his eyes slightly squinted like he was a student during a lesson.  He got down off of the bed and did as Devyn suggested.

“Should I...uh...take it in all at once?” he asked.

“If you aren’t comfortable with that yet, no.  Just do it little by little.” Devyn tried to sound authoritative and knowledgeable but the first time he had done it, he had just done it.  Figured it out as he went.  But he wasn’t going to lose his patience with Alistair.  He had been sheltered his whole life, after all.

Alistair bobbed his head a little and put his mouth just on the tip.  A shiver went down Devyn’s spine and he arched his back forward.  He felt his hot breath against him and it felt...really nice.  Truthfully, he had never been on the receiving end of it.  The men he had been with always wanted him on his knees, sucking them off while they pretended he was someone else.  He supposed that was what he got for being with so many unhappily married men.  He felt bad for their wives but some of them were like Elva, who hated him anyway.  She hated her husband but she had hated Devyn more for having sex with him.

“Is that okay?” Alistair asked, lifting his head.

He nodded, not trusting his voice.  He let him get back to it.  Apparently working slow to find his comfort zone was a good thing for both of them.  Devyn felt...really good.  It was really good.  He gently reached out to take hold of Alistair’s hair.  He didn’t pull it, just got some of the short strands between his fingers as he stroked it.  While he was still rather awkward, he was finding out that at this, at least, Alistair was a quick study.  He got to work using his tongue on the underside and Devyn moaned so loudly he had to put his fist in his mouth to keep from waking the others.  He didn’t think the Arl or anyone else could hear him through the stone walls but he didn’t want to chance it.

There was a knock at the door and he lowered his fist.  The moan turned into a string of expletives so foul that Alistair backed off and looked at him, eyes wide.

“I didn’t even know you could _do_ that with a pommel,” he whispered in awe.

Devyn leaned down and kissed him gently before he got up off of the bed.  He grabbed Alistair’s shirt off of the floor and tugged it on.  He didn’t want to bother getting his smalls back on and the shirt was large enough to fall to his thighs.  He got to the door and threw it open with such force that he heard the metal on the hinges buckle.  Devyn winced slightly.  He really did forget his own strength at times.  The feeling of guilt passed quickly and was replaced with the previous feeling of annoyance.

“This had better be good,” he demanded.

Cassan stood on the other side of the door and he almost didn’t recognize her.  She was in a nightshirt that was possibly borrowed from one of the servants and her hair was down.  More than that, though, her expression was completely different.  She looked perplexed and vulnerable, not at all like herself.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said.

“No you aren’t.”

“You’re right, I’m not.  I need to ask you something.”

Devyn leaned against the stone doorway and folded his arms.

“What?”

She glanced over his shoulder and smirked at whatever she saw.  Devyn scowled.  He refrained from being mean, though.  Despite Cassan being Cassan, she was obviously bugged enough by something to get up in the middle of the night to talk to him.  He never realized it before but, out of the Wardens, Cassan was probably closest with him.  He didn’t know why since they teased each other almost mercilessly.  Maybe he reminded her of her relationship with her brother.  She certainly reminded him of Shianni.

“Is it possible to love someone platonically?” she asked.

Devyn goggled at her.

“That’s what you woke me up for?”

“I didn’t wake you up,” she said with a snort, “I interrupted you fucking Alistair.  Come on now.”

“Fine.” He sighed and then scratched his head as he considered her question. “Well, yeah.  I mean I love my family but not like I love Alistair.”

She shook her head.

“Not family.  I mean, I know that.  In spite of...everything, I love my brother.  I meant someone you aren’t related to.  Is it possible to be in love with them but not like that?”

“Again: yeah.  My cousins, Soris and Shianni, they aren’t related to Maeve at all.  Not even through marriage.  But she loves them and they love her.”

Again, Cassan shook her head.

“They’re still family...sort of.  I meant like someone in no way connected to you in a familial way.”

“Is this about Ian?”

“Just answer the question, pipsqueak!”

He sighed and shook his head.

“Yeah, it’s totally possible.  It also doesn’t negate who you are and are not attracted to romantically or sexually.”

She paused and nodded her head slowly as if considering what he said.

“That makes sense.  Thanks.”

Without another word, Cassan left, and Devyn was a bit surprised that she had even thanked him.  He shook his head and shut the door.  What a weird thing to come to him about in the middle of the night.  He turned back to where Alistair still sat on the floor.  He felt a tingle below his navel and gave him a slight smile while he bit his lower lip.

“Now, where were we?”

\--

The first thing that Theron noticed about horses was that they were far wider than halla.  His legs felt stretched sitting in the saddle and every bump went right up against his prick.  He would be amazed if he could still use it after they got to Denerim.

At least he rode better than Oghren, he thought.  The dwarf was riding pillion with Maeve since the Arl didn’t give him his own horse.  He clung to her back and didn’t dare make a single lewd comment.  Theron figured that he knew that Maeve wouldn’t hesitate to toss him from the horse.

Eamon drew up next to him on his own horse and Theron gaze him a sideways glance.  Probably because of his earlier comments about how he looked, Eamon hadn’t really spoken to him.

“Dalish,” he said.  His voice sounded less croaky and like he was going to die any moment, at least.

“Excuse me?” he asked.  This shem knew he had a name, right?

“What do your elf eyes see?”

Theron balked at him.  True, as a hunter, he was trained to see and hear (and sometimes smell) what others couldn’t but the way Eamon said it bothered him.  As if he was some exotic creature he could use to help with the path ahead.

“They see a shemlen who’s about to get their ass kicked.”

He took the reins more firmly in his hands and squeezed his knees together slightly so his horse could pull ahead.  He figured Eamon meant well but there were only so many well-meaning shemlen he could take.  Alistair was about his limit.

“Do you always speak to authority in such a way?” Eamon asked from behind him.

“You have no authority over me,” he replied, “I’m a Grey Warden and, more than that, I’m Dalish.  I have no obligation to respect you or your title.”

He hazarded a glance over his shoulder to see the stunned look on Eamon’s face.

“I am assisting you both with our troops and in calling the Landsmeet though no ancient treaty obligates me to do so.” He recovered well, at least.

“Whoop-di-shit,” Theron said with a snort. “If you want someone to thank you for it, talk to Maeve.  Or Alistair.  You won’t be getting any gratitude from me.”

He left it at that.  If Eamon wanted to play nice with them all, that was fine.  Maybe part of him was determined to win him over after that fruit comment back in Redcliffe.  Or maybe he wanted extra points for “taming the savage Dalish hunter” that traveled with the Wardens.  Theron didn’t see why he was the focus since every time the Arl said anything, Devyn rolled his eyes.  However, Eamon seemed to be frightened of him and that was confusing.  True, Theron knew the youngest member of their group well enough to know that there was plenty of reason to be scared of him but that was hard to tell at first glance.  Even with his scars, he didn’t exude an outward demeanor of intimidation.  In addition to that, Cassan was too standoffish and Kierin had been off in his own world since Orzammar.  Maeve was already polite to him.  Thus, Theron was the only option that remained.

He really didn’t give two shits over shemlen politics or the outcome of this Landsmeet.  As long as it ended with the Archdemon dead and no longer haunting his dreams, he would be happy.

\--

Loghain seethed as he approached Eamon’s office.  Redcliffe soldiers flanked him but, for once, he knew they were not there for his protection.  Howe stood to his left and Cauthrien to his right.  Even protected in his armor, he felt vulnerable.  Those Wardens were sneaky and could be lurking anywhere.  He entered the room and Eamon stood in front of a heavy, oak desk.  His arms were folded and he looked...well.  Better than one would think after weeks of illness.  Loghain did not know how to feel about that.  It had been his hand but he felt.  Guilty.  He felt guilty for a lot of things.  Ostagar, Eamon, the Alienage.  He was beginning to have a hard time justifying his actions for the good of Ferelden.  But they were.  They had to be.  He pretended that his conscience didn’t still haunt his dreams.  His younger self, sneering and scowling as he berated him.  At least it no longer hounded his waking hours.

With Eamon stood the Wardens.  The five elves he had seen at Ostagar and Maric’s bastard.  Maker, he looked like him.  The same earnest expression and wide jaw.  The brown eyes that betrayed every emotion even when he tried to hide them.  Maric had said his mother had died but Loghain never bought it.  He had seen those Wardens--Duncan and the woman--come with a bundle to the palace.  Looking at him now, he tried not to see someone who resembled Maric but someone who was an obstacle.  Someone Eamon wanted to put on the throne to keep him off of it.  The Wardens were not the only ones present in the office.  He spotted a young man leaning casually against the wall, his arms folded.  He was enormous: tall and powerfully built.  Howe bristled next to him at the sight of him.  Loghain glanced at him and then saw the blue and silver laurel tattooed on the boy’s bare bicep.  Ah, this was Cousland’s boy.  The sole survivor.

“Loghain,” Eamon said with a dry chuckle, “I did not expect to see you so soon.”

His voice brought him back to the task at hand.

“How could I not pay a visit?” he asked, “when you’ve assembled the entire Bannorn to get my attention.”

One of the elves snorted from where he sat on Eamon’s desk.  It was a rather inelegant sound from someone who looked like an ephemeral beauty from a painting.

“I believe introductions are to be in order,” he said instead of acknowledging the elf, “This is Ser Cauthrien and Rendon Howe: the Arl of Amaranthine, the Teryn of Highever, and the newly appointed Arl of Denerim.”

Cousland’s boy flexed his hands against his arms where they were crossed.  He was most certainly angry.

“So you’re the one who orchestrated the purge on my people?”

The elf who spoke was the small one who stood next to Maric’s bastard.  He was not as slight or small as Loghain remembered from Ostagar and there was something dangerous about the look in his eyes.  Howe met his gaze and smirked.

“Well, sometimes when animals act out against their masters, you have to cull the herd.”

The elf’s face managed to somehow pale even more and he lunged at him.  Luckily, Maric’s bastard caught him by both arms and held him back before he could do any damage.

“You shit-sucking fuckshit!” he screamed. “I’m going to enjoy ripping out your throat!”

Eamon put a weary hand to his face at the outburst but, if he was being honest, Loghain couldn’t blame the elf.  Howe had assured him that the measures in the Alienage were what was right.  Just as his father said that leaving their campsite was right.  The right thing ended so often in death and anger.  Cauthrien stepped forward, her hand on the hilt of her greatsword.

“Watch how you speak to him,” she said in a warning tone.

The elf met her eyes and scoffed. “Let the weasel fight his own battles.”

Maric’s bastard whispered something in his ear and he backed off.  He still scowled, his eyes trained on Howe’s face.  The oldest of the Wardens, the woman with the curly hair, put a still hand on his arm.  She didn’t look as visibly angry as the boy but her glare at Howe left no argument that she agreed with what the elf boy had said.

“Wow,” the elf on the desk spoke again, “I think you’re going to have some competition in killing this shemlen fuck, Ian.”

Howe’s smirk fell for a moment and he paled.  He cast a glance to the Cousland who glowered at him from his spot against the wall.

“Regent,” the woman with curly hair spoke now, “things may escalate if you do not take your leave.  We will see you at the Landsmeet.”

The way she spoke and carried herself--that steely determination--she reminded him of Duncan.  The Duncan he had seen at Ostagar and not the thief who stole the moment he was in Denerim and who talked back to the King.  Loghain turned to leave and glanced over his shoulder at her.  Despite the temper of the little one and the threats issued by the pretty one on the desk, he knew that she would be the one he had to fear.

\--

To Zevran, the Arl’s estate was almost as nice as the royal palace.  Or, actually, as nice as anything in Ferelden could be.  It was still largely utilitarian and decorated with dogs.  He couldn’t quite get over the dog thing.  Fereldan humans even acted like them.  Every time Ian laughed it sounded like a bark and when Alistair was confused--which was often--he cocked his head to the side.

He walked through the hallways of the estate and saw glimpses of the others.  Leliana was positively thrilled at the nug they brought her.  She promptly named it Schmooples of all things and she looked actually happy.  Or at least the happiest he had ever seen her.  Zevran wondered why Theron hadn’t given it to him for a brief moment and then felt foolish.  He didn’t even want a nug, nor any animal.  But since he had returned, things had been weird.  He truly hoped that it was not because of what he said the night Tamlen died.  If Theron had truly heard any of that...he didn’t know what he would do.

Still, he could not avoid talking to him forever and he truly did miss him those long days he had been away.  Zevran knew by now he had it bad.  It was that same burn he had felt for Rinna but this had taken a while.  He had to peel back some of the layers Theron put up to shield his true self.  But now he had no idea how to act.  Seduction was easy.  Flirtation was easy.  Love was another beast.  He couldn’t just smirk and cock his brow or shift his hips deliberately.  Charming someone into bed, lulling them into a false security, this he could do.  As he approached the room Theron was staying in, he knew that wouldn’t work.  His mouth was dry and his hands shook.

The door was open and he could see him in there, brushing his hair.  Zevran cleared his throat.  He turned from the mirror and smiled.

“Zevran!”

Theron jumped up and ran to him.  He didn’t rush him into his arms and kiss him and Zevran wasn’t sure whether to be glad or not.  This was all new to him.  He never had this opportunity with Rinna.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said instead.

Zevran took him around Denerim through the backstreets.  It was dangerous, maybe, but he wanted to be away from the crowds in the marketplace.  Furthermore, everyone knew of the Wardens’ arrival with Arl Eamon.  They would crowd him and smother him and Zevran wanted him to himself.  And more than that, he knew Theron wouldn’t like that.  Too many humans--what was their word for them again?--crowding him.

“I don’t like cities,” Theron said as they walked.

“Oh?”

“I thought I would give them a chance but if they’re all like Denerim, I’m good.”

Zevran smiled.  Part of him wondered what would happen if he reached out and took his hand.  Held it while they walked.  He felt so out of sorts with himself.

“I never really thanked you.”

He turned and saw Theron peeking at him through his hair.  He looked sheepish and vulnerable.

“For what?”

“For...staying with me.  That night with Tamlen, I...ma serannas.”

“Of course.  You...I…”

Theron stopped walking and knit his brow.

“You...I...what?” he asked.

Zevran wondered if he could say it.  If he could get the words out and what they meant.  He put his hand at his ear and fiddled with one of his earrings.

“Zevran!”

For a moment he was confused.  He thought Theron shouted his name but his lips didn’t move and the voice wasn’t his.  It was familiar, though.  How could it not have been?  The speaker knew his name after all.  He turned and saw Taliesin standing before him like a ghost from the past.  He looked the same: short hair, goatee, leather armor.  His eyes were always focused and his mouth always hungry.  Zevran knew what his appearance meant.  He glanced around, looking at the shadows in the corners of the alleyway where they walked.

“There are others,” Theron whispered. “Who is he?”

Taliesin approached him, his hands out in a supposed gesture of goodwill.  He stopped before him and his eyes settled on Theron.  They roamed over him without him even trying to hide it.  A lascivious grin came onto his face as he stared.

“Taliesin.”

He knew why he was here.  The Crows found him because of course they would.  He could only hide amongst the Wardens for so long.

“I wondered if your shame in failing was what kept you hiding from us, Zevran,” he said, smirking. “But I can see you were obviously occupying your time elsewhere.”

He reached out and stroked Theron’s hair.  In one fluid motion, the Dalish reached out and grabbed his wrist, twisting it in a way that looked extremely painful.  Taliesin let out a cry of pain and his face went bright red.  Zevran was impressed.  They had gone through so much conditioning in the Crows to not express when they felt pain.  Theron’s move must have hurt him badly.

“It’s better if you don’t touch his hair,” he said.

Taliesin wrenched his wrist free and winced.

“I gathered.”

“What do you want?” Zevran asked.

Despite his pain, Taliesin smiled.  Zevran knew that smile.  He had used it himself on numerous occasions.  They had been taught to smile like that in the Crows before they killed their marks.

“I want you back, of course!” He was too close, still.  Too casual.  He should have known better than to use the same moves Zevran had. “We can cook up some story to explain your absence and the Crows will overlook your failure if you correct it now.”

He glared.  That was what this was about.  Part of him felt touched that Taliesin was reaching out to him.  That he still considered him a friend and didn’t want him punished or killed by the Crows.  But a larger part knew that that didn’t matter.  Correcting his mistake would be killing the Wardens.

“You honestly think I could get you into the Arl’s Estate?”

Taliesin shook his head.  His eyes went back to Theron and Zevran wasn’t sure if he was checking him out or sizing him up.

“You could just take out one.”

He knew that was what he would say.  He couldn’t do that.

“No.”

Theron looked at him and he was grateful that it wasn’t with surprise.  He didn’t expect him to betray him to the Crows.

“Don’t answer so quickly, Zev.  Think about it.” Taliesin’s eyes were pleading. “If you say no, I can’t just walk away.”

“I know.  I’m sorry, Taliesin.  I will not kill him.”

Taliesin scoffed and gestured at Theron with his good hand.

“This Warden?  This Dalish elf who hasn’t said one word since I showed up?  You’re throwing it all away for him?”

Theron stepped forward, smiling in a disconcertingly serene manner.

“How are these for words?” he asked, “fuck off, you shit-sucking shemlen.”

He drew one of his knives and flung it into the shadows.  One of the assassins lurking there let out a cry that ended in a gurgle.  Taliesin sighed.

“So be it.  I’m sorry, Zevran.”

He nodded. “As am I.”

The fight did not last long in his mind.  Zevran went where his mind went when he fought.  He kept it there until it was done.  It was easier as the fight was personal.  He didn’t want to look at Taliesin’s body.  When it was over, he looked at Theron who was pulling arrows out of bodies to replace in his quiver.  He looked shaken.

“I wish they just left,” he said. “I’m sick of this.”

Zevran drew near him and put his arms around him.  Theron leaned into him, hunching down because he was taller, and he rested his head on his shoulder.

“He was special to you,” he said quietly.

“Yes.  Once.”

Theron didn’t speak for a long moment.

“Like Rinna?” he asked finally.

Zevran’s spine fused.  He had heard him that night.  He drew in a breath before he spoke.

“Not like her but close.  Yes.”

“He was the one who…”

He nodded.  Rinna and now Taliesin.  He feared Theron would be next.  How many more?  He knew that it was wrong to allow himself to love.  Yet, as he looked at Theron where his head lay, he wanted to try.  He wanted…

“I want to give you something.”

Theron lifted his head and pushed some hair out of his eyes.

“What?”

Zevran reached up and unlatched one of the earrings from his ear.  It was one that had been special to him.  A token from a target who wanted him to spare his life.  It was hammered gold and encrusted with jewels.

“Here.”

Theron stared at it for a moment.

“Jewelry?”

“Yes.  It was--”

“What does it mean?”

Zevran stumbled over his tongue.

“What?”

“What does it mean?” he repeated.  Theron grabbed his hair and began furiously braiding it as he spoke. “I’m going to be honest with you.  I am starting to heal over Tamlen.  I want to move on.  And I want to move on with you.  I can admit that now.  But, fenedhis, what are you going to give me?  Just a token because I helped you kill your friend?”

He closed his fingers over the earring, unsure how to proceed.

“You are special to me, Theron.  And I want you to have it.”

“If I take this, does this mean that we’re together?” he asked. “Because I want that.  I know that now.”

“I…”

He shook his head.

“If you don’t know, don’t give it to me.”

He turned and left.  Zevran didn’t put the earring back in his ear.  He held it, watching him disappear back towards the market district.  He was left with the bodies of assassins and a sense of confusion as to what just happened.

\--

There was commotion in the estate.  An elven woman had rushed past Eamon’s guards.  Devyn was surprised to see that she was in a dress of fine linen that was dyed a rose color.  She couldn’t have been a mere servant.  His father had been the favored cook for the Bann he worked for and he still wore undyed cotton.  Her hair was falling out of a queue she had kept it in and her eyes were wide and panicked.  Despite her apparent urgency, Eamon made her wait until Theron and Zevran returned from their walk to let her speak.

“Tell them who you are,” he said.

In the time they waited, she seemed to have calmed down enough to regain her breath.  She smoothed her hair down and began speaking.

“I am Erlina,” she said in an accent that was distinctly Orlesian, “I am Queen Anora’s handmaiden.  My lady is in danger.”

Without waiting for anyone to prompt her further, Erlina kept speaking.

“My lady has begun to suspect her father having a hand in her husband’s death.  But she respects him greatly, you see, and the Teryn is...he is very subtle.  So she spoke to Howe who is...less so.  There has been no further word and I believe Howe had kidnapped her.”

“Wait,” Devyn interjected.  He scratched the side of his head as he said, “Anora is the Queen.  How can Howe just...take her?”

Eamon cleared his throat and Devyn almost cut him off by saying that he was speaking to Erlina.

“Anora was Queen through marriage.  With no Landsmeet to declare her to rule on her own, she is simply the King’s widow with her father acting as Regent.”

“Bloody politics,” Devyn muttered under his breath.

Why did nobles have to make it so confusing?  If Anora was Queen, let her remain Queen.  It would save him a lot of headache anyway.

“So…” Theron raised his hand to speak, “Anora is the Ter--is Loghain’s daughter.  Why would he allow Howe to kidnap her?”

Erlina wiped her hands on her skirts and shook her head solemnly.

“The Teryn has grown...odd these past few weeks.  You saw him.  I fear with Anora raising suspicions, he would...I do not know what he would do.  Her father never spoke to me you see.  Because I am Orlesian.  But I have observed.  He loves his daughter but he loves Ferelden more.  I think he would readily sacrifice her for what he believes is the good of Ferelden.”

Eamon stroked his beard and nodded thoughtfully as she spoke.

“So you need us to help rescue the Queen?” Devyn asked before the Arl could speak. “I’ll go.  I know the layout of the estate.”

Maeve shot him a look and he fielded it with a bright smile.  She couldn’t even argue to go in his stead.  He and Soris had gotten into the estate.  She had been taken through the front door with the rest of the wedding party.

“Me too,” Ian said.  Eamon looked like he was going to object but he cast one look at him and changed his mind.

“I’ll go,” Theron said, voice at a purr.

Erlina looked at him--the newcomer as he and Zevran had shown up mere moments ago--and did what everyone did when they saw Theron.  She let her eyes linger up and down his long, lean body before settling on his face.

“Lethallin…” Hearing the elven word in Kierin’s real voice was still a bit disconcerting.

Theron glanced towards Zevran for a moment before saying, “I want to get out for a bit.”

Kierin looked about to volunteer but Wynne spoke up.

“I will go as well,” she said with a wry smile, “it is about time I contributed.”

Erlina heaved a sigh of relief.

“I think that should suffice,” she said, “any more would attract suspicion.  I shall wait for you at the Arl’s estate.”

She bowed her head and exited.

“So is it a trap?” Cassan asked Eamon the moment she left.

“It could be.  Anora is very shrewd.”

Devyn scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, ‘let me get kidnapped by a known murderer to help myself.’  That doesn’t even make sense.”

Eamon stared at him and he stared right back.  He knew Eamon subconsciously feared him.  Somehow he knew what he had said to him in Redcliffe.  Good.  Sodding nobles.  Sodding Eamon.

\--

“How do you know the layout of the Arl’s estate?”

This was the first conversation he had ever had with Wynne.  Devyn knew this because he wrote it in his journal later.

“On my wedding day, my cousin and I had to break in here,” he replied. “Arl Urien’s son took the wedding party.  He offered us money if we just left the women with him.  So I killed him.”

Wynne looked slightly taken aback but she seemed to grasp what he wasn’t saying and nodded.

“I didn’t know you were married,” she said and then archly added, “Does Alistair know?”

“He knows that I was supposed to get married but that the wedding never happened because Maeve and I got conscripted.”

He didn’t really want to talk about what led to his and his cousin’s recruitment into the Grey Wardens.  It was a bad memory.  Another time he failed.  Sure, the Shianni in the Gauntlet said it wasn’t his fault but it didn’t stop him from blaming himself.

“So you’re not married?” Ian asked.

“No.”

Ian looked like he was going to say more but he didn’t.  Everything he did say seemed forced like he was trying to be his jolly self and failing.

“Theron do you know any elven swear words?” he asked to change the subject.

He seemed to note the edge in Devyn’s voice and nodded.

“Fenedhis,” he said, “is a pretty common curse.  All-purpose.  I like common tongue curses better, though.  Fuck, shit, ass...much better.”

Wynne gave him a reprimanding look and Theron smiled in his most charming manner.  That got a slight chuckle out of her and she waved her hand.

“We know how you like to curse, Theron,” Devyn teased.

He responded by lifting his chin up and tossing his hair.

“People think all Dalish ought to speak like withered hahren.  I like to prove them wrong.”

“I find it funny, though,” Devyn said, “the Dalish try to scrape together whatever’s left of our culture and one of the things they recover is curse words.”

“We had our priorities.”

Theron bumped him with his hip and Devyn punched him back playfully, as gentle as he could.  If he had told the others back in the Alienage that he counted a Dalish hunter among his closest friends, they would laugh.  The Dalish were folklore at best and scary savages at worst.  Even Alarith, who was rescued by them, said that if he hadn’t been an elf, they probably would have robbed him.  The thought turned melancholy and he wondered what was left of his home, his family.  He screwed his face up and tried not to think about it.  He wouldn’t know until he finally was allowed in to see it.  He tried to keep his thoughts positive as they walked towards the Arl’s Estate.  Thinking about showing his fellow Wardens to his family.  Cassan and Shianni would get along straightaway or else try to kill one another.  Once people got over his facial tattoos, he knew everyone would crowd around Theron and whine about how good-looking he was.  Kierin they wouldn’t know what to do with.  Alistair...he could introduce Alistair to his father.

“What’s with the angry mob?”

Ian’s words drew him from his reverie and Devyn saw that they were outside the Arl’s estate.  People were gathered outside: peasants, commonfolk.  All humans but no nobles.  They were shouting obscenities and throwing cabbage at the door.  It made him smile.

“Guess people aren’t happy with the new leadership,” Ian said.

A voice from the shadows hissed at them.

“This way!”

It was Orlesian, and Erlina.  They snuck by the crowd unnoticed.  They were too involved with chucking rotten vegetation at the walls and demanding fairness.

“I will distract the guards at the door,” Erlina told them as they reached her, “I also have found armor for you to wear to pretend to be guards.”

“That won’t work,” Theron said. “It’ll be too big.”

She stopped and looked from him to Devyn and realized her mistake.

“Servants,” Devyn suggested, “Wynne and Ian put on the armor and Theron and I will wear servants’ clothes.  It’s how I got in here before.”

Erlina took their weapons to hide inside as they got ready behind a low-walled vegetable garden.  Devyn was worried Wynne would collapse under the heavy plate but she seemed alright.  Ian had more trouble.  The armor was too small for him and he could hardly move his arms.

“Temporary,” he said to himself.

Devyn brushed Theron’s hair in front of his eyes so only those looking closely would see his vallaslin.  Theron was far taller than him and the clothes Devyn had in his pack fit him poorly.  His arms stuck out from the sleeves, his ankles were bare, and the shirt was too short, but he still managed to look good.  He made a face and pulled at the waistband of the trousers.

“How skinny _are_ you?” he asked in a pinched voice.  He tried to hook his thumb into the waistband to pull it out.

Devyn smirked and said, “I knew your appetite would eventually catch up to you.”

Theron glowered and tugged at the laces of the pants to undo them.

“You’re just skeletal, lethallin.”

“What did you call me?”

Theron was looking down and adjusting the pants so they fit more comfortably.

“Lethallin,” he repeated. “Good thing your clothes are so worn that they’re stretched out.”

He didn’t elaborate but Devyn was filled with warmth.  That was what he called Kierin so it had to mean that they were properly good friends now.

“We should go,” Theron said, wrapping his arms around his bare midriff. “It’s cold out here and I think Erlina’s done distracting those shem.”

\--

Theron thought that he and Devyn would pretend to scrub the floors or dust suits of armor in the estate to blend in but, truthfully, no one noticed them.  He also figured that they would have noticed the guard clanking around in too-small armor but no one did.  Thus, it was easy to make it to the room where Anora was being kept.  Theron thought it was almost too easy.  It made him wonder why they even gave Erlina their weapons to stash in another room.  “Just in case” she had said.

“Were you in this room?” Theron asked.

Devyn pulled a face and said, “It’s a closed door, Theron.  I remember the layout, not the exact rooms.”

“You think this’ll go well for once?” he continued.  All of this silence in the estate was bothering him.  It wasn’t as though the guards even paid attention to what two servants were doing, anyhow. “We get the Queen out of here and don’t even have to kill anyone for once.”

Devyn nodded and sighed wistfully, looking into the middle distance. “That _would_ be nice.”

Theron knew that wasn’t going to happen.  Howe was here and even after they got the Queen out, Ian was intent on killing him.  Not that he could blame him.  After what he said in Arl Eamon’s office, Theron kind of wanted to take a shot at him as well.

“Why’d you volunteer?” Devyn asked.  He lifted the rag he held to rub against the stone walls in a half-hearted attempt at dusting it.

“To come here?”

He nodded.

“...I needed to get out.  Something happened with Zevran.”

“I didn’t know you two were serious.”

Theron smiled wryly and tried to keep his tone light.

“Yes.  You and Alistair now have competition for ‘cutest couple.’  Watch out.”

He failed to conceal the hurt from his voice and Devyn’s eyebrows rose as he noticed.  He didn’t press, though, and he was glad for it.  He honestly didn’t know how to put it into words.  He was getting over Tamlen.  He wanted to be with Zevran.  He knew that now.  But Zevran was being...frustrating.

A guard approached them and Theron stilled.  He wasn’t armed but he figured that he could take one guard.  And if he couldn’t, Devyn could rip his arm off with his bare hands or something.

“We found where Queen Anora is being kept.” The voice that came from the helmet belonged to Wynne and he immediately relaxed.

Putting down their rags, they followed her down a hallway and towards a door.  Ian and Erlina stood outside of it.

“Well?” Theron prompted.

“There is a bit of a problem!”

He figured it was the Queen who spoke, her voice muffled by the wood of the door.  She sounded properly genteel and shemlen noble-like.

“Howe had a mage spell the door,” she continued.

“Lockpicks didn’t work,” Ian reported.

Devyn cracked his knuckles and said, “Let me try.”

Wynne placed a gauntleted hand on his shoulder and shook her head.

“I think it is unwise to try to punch a magical barrier.”

He pouted but acquiesced to what she said.

“The mage would be with Howe,” Queen Anora said, “In the...lower areas of the estate.”

Erlina glanced at the door and back at them.

“She means the dungeons and torture chambers,” she explained. “Howe spends much of his time there.”

“Of course he does,” Ian said.

Theron glanced at him through the slats in his helmet.  He could see that he was trying--and failing--to hide the glee from his face.  Now he didn’t need an excuse to chase after Howe.  They had to face him to get to the mage to cast this spell.

“Where’d you put our gear?” Ian asked.

“The Arl’s chambers,” Erlina replied. “I knew he would not be there and...there is an entrance directly to the lower reaches of the estate there.  I thought of it for an alternate escape route.”

“Down below?” Theron asked.

“There is another entrance there, to a back courtyard,” Devyn replied. “It was a way for Vaughan to smuggle in his...victims when he didn’t want to use the front door.”

Theron could tell by his tone of voice that he had known some of them personally.  He remembered what Devyn had said about his wedding in Denerim and the subsequent murder of the Arl’s son.  Another shemlen’s death Theron was thankful for.

“You know that from what happened?” Wynne asked.

He shook his head.

“No.  He took them right through the front door, Maeve said.  Since his father was away.  I had mates who worked as servants here.”

Ian cleared his throat loudly.

“Let’s go,” he said, voice urgent. “The Queen needs to be rescued, you know.”

Ian, Theron noted, was someone who had the capacity to be a good liar.  But his emotions were in the way and it was clear that the Queen was the last thing on his mind.

\--

Ian stretched out his back the moment he got out of the armor Erlina had provided.  His joints cracked as he rubbed his arms to get feeling back into them.

“Hello, darling,” Devyn said as he kissed the pommel of his battleaxe.

“Air!” Theron exclaimed.  He had traded Devyn’s trousers for his leathers.  He inhaled deeply and grinned.

Wynne chuckled.  She was already back in her robe as she waited for all of them to get themselves situated.  Ian got himself into his leathers, trying not to rush as he buckled himself in.  Howe was close, so close.  He shouldered his bow and glanced back at the two elves, urging them to hurry.  Devyn was done doting on his axe and had gotten into his ironbark armor and was now buckling his gauntlets.  Theron had in his hands a beautiful bow of polished black wood and Ian wondered why he had never seen it before.  True, Theron’s...other bow was more impressive but this was undoubtedly a work of fine craftsmanship.  It managed to take his mind off of Howe for the moment.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked.

“The ruin where we fought werewolves,” he replied in an almost dreamy voice. “Falon’din’s Reach, it’s called.  At least that’s what Kierin translated off of the Elven carved into it.”

Ian nodded but his gaze already drifted back towards the door that led to the torture chambers.  Led to Howe.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The door took them down a stone ramp and into a dimly lit chamber.  Cells lined the walls and everything stank of blood and decay.  Theron plugged his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.  Ian didn’t think it was that bad but he wasn’t a Dalish hunter.

“Next watch, thank the Make--” A guard turned from his position and glanced at them. “You aren’t guards!”

Devyn glanced at them and gave the guard a befuddled look. “We’re not?”

The guard reached at his waist for his sword but before he could react, a pair of arms snaked out from a prison cell and banged him against the bars.  He struggled for a bit before blacking out.  The door swung open and his unconscious form was brought into the cell.  Ian tensed.  This prisoner had picked the locks and had been waiting for a moment to strike.  He could only imagine who was kept in that cell.  After a moment of shuffling a man emerged dressed in the guard’s armor.  He was middle-aged, perhaps, with long black hair hastily tied behind his head.  He had a beard but Ian couldn’t tell if it was something he had normally or something that came as a result from being imprisoned.  He looked at them all with tired eyes.

“You are not Arl Howe’s men.” The man spoke in a faint Orlesian accent.

“We’re aware,” Devyn said. “Who are you?”

He bowed, which surprised Ian.

“Riordan of the Grey Wardens of Jader.  And I thank you for your distraction.”

Theron looked at him and then at Devyn who shrugged.  So they weren’t the only Wardens in Ferelden, then.

“You were imprisoned here?” Wynne asked.

He nodded. “I came to reclaim a Grey Warden cache in the city but was intercepted by Loghain.  He poisoned my drink and when I awoke, I was in here.”

Devyn shook his head.

“What is with that guy and poison?”

Ian looked at him curiously.  Devyn was prone to sarcasm but he seemed to be in rare form today.

“You’re being all dark,” he explained, reading the look, “Someone has to be the comic relief.”

He shook his head.  Riordan, meanwhile, looked confused.

“Who are you?”

Wynne stepped forward, hoping to head Devyn off before he made another comment.

“I am Wynne, senior enchanter for the Circle of Magi in Ferelden.  This is Lord Ian Cousland of Highever.  And these two are Grey Wardens.”

“Oh, are we doing fancy introductions?” Devyn asked. “Devyn Tabris of Denerim.”

He rolled his shoulders back and puffed his chest out as he smacked it with a fist.  Wynne rolled her eyes as she chuckled.

“Theron Mahariel of Clan Sabrae.”

Riordan looked at them and his confusion ebbed into amusement.

“Well met, my brothers.”

He winced in pain and rubbed at his chest.

“I apologize,” he continued, “but I am unable to aid you further.  I must seek a healer.”

Wynne held her hand out an conjured blue-white energy in the center of her palm.

“I’m a healer.”

Riordan gave a pained smile. “Many thanks, my lady, but I spent weeks in that prison.  I yearn to see the outside as well.”

She nodded and the magic dissipated.

“Go to Arl Eamon’s estate in the market district,” Devyn said, “You’ll find the rest of the Wardens there.”

Riordan nodded and left with one last smile to Devyn and Theron.

“Come on,” Ian said, “we’ve wasted enough time.”

Wynne stared at him with a concerned look on her face and he scowled.  She had done and said nothing the entire time she had been among them and now she was going to say something?  Act like she knew him?  He hitched his shoulder and walked away towards the door at the far end of the room.

Fighting through the guards was a blur.  Freeing Oswin--a Bann’s son and a former conquest of his--was a blur.  Talking to the other prisoners was a blur.  Everything was a blur.  Not that he was needed.  Devyn and Theron did most of the talking.  Being proper Wardens for once rather than a tragic pair of elves that kept meeting more and more bad luck.  Finally, they came to a door.  Ian didn’t know why he knew but he knew Howe was on the other side.  It helped that the only other door in the dungeons was barred and led back to the room where they found Riordan.  He kicked the door open and stepped inside.

Sure enough, Howe stood in the center of what appeared to be another torture chamber.  A mage stood next to him and other guards waited further back in the room, next to the rack.

“Ah, Bryce Cousland’s little mistake,” he drawled in his simpering voice. “Come on some ill-advised revenge trip?  Will it help you feel better?  That the last remaining Cousland is a disgrace.”

It was a half-hearted little speech but it still angered him.  Ian clenched his fists.

“And you Wardens--”

“Shut.  Up.” Ian growled out the words through clenched teeth. “No more talking.”

Howe smirked and glanced at the mage just in time to see a knife plunge into the man’s throat.  In all of his pontificating, he had missed Theron slip into the shadows.  The Dalish had come up behind the mage and stabbed him most expertly.  The guards sprang into action but were quickly dispatched by spirit bolts courtesy of Wynne.

Devyn strolled up to Howe and punched him in the face.  His head snapped back and blood spurted from his nose where his fist connected.

“That was for the Alienage, asshole,” he sneered and then to Ian, in his regular voice, “He’s all yours.”

Ian stared down Howe who managed to glare venomously with a bleeding nose.  He dropped his bow and drew the knives he kept in the sheaths on his wrists.  Howe held a hand axe and a knife in his offhand.

“This is what you want?” His voice was clogged but still managed to be as drawling as usual.

“What I want is my family back.”

He lunged and Howe lunged.  Ian crossed his blades in front of his face and they caught the axe as Howe brought it down.  He sprang them apart and lunged forward.  He got Howe’s forearm.  His arm spasmed and he dropped the knife.  His arm hung limply at his side and he swung wildly with the axe.  Ian dodged it.  Howe’s moves were sloppy, desperate.  Ian brought his offhand knife down on his other arm.  The axe fell.  With his left hand, he slashed the knife across Howe’s chest.  He fell, weak.  Ian was on him.  He dropped the knife he held in his right hand and brought the other down repeatedly.  He stabbed whatever bit of Howe he saw.  His face, his neck, his chest, stomach.  He stabbed wildly and messily.  He heard a voice, far off, yelling and shouting.  He began to make out the words.

“This is for mother, father--Oren, Oriana, nan, Aldous, ser Gilmore--” the names melted to primal screams as he stabbed him.

Finally a pair of arms caught him around the middle and pulled him away.  The person was strong--had to be Devyn.

“Ian, enough,” Wynne said sternly.

He came back to himself and stared at Howe’s corpse on the ground.  So desecrated that it was unrecognizable.  Ian himself was coated in his blood.  He stepped forward, out of Devyn’s grasp.  He moved like he was going to grab him again but Ian sheathed his knife.  Picked the other one up and sheathed it too.  He knelt down near Howe and dipped his fingers in the pool of blood that he lay in.  He stood and stroked his fingers over the stone walls, making a line with the blood.  He wanted people to know who did it.  He finished and admired his handiwork.  The Cousland laurel now adorned the wall, painted in Howe’s blood.

“Let’s go get Anora,” he said finally.

He left without sparing another look at Howe.

\--

Devyn thought having the Queen traveling with them in old guard armor was odd but if it got them out of the estate, he didn’t care.  He had a feeling that once she got to the Arl’s estate, things would change further.  They would have to make decisions about the Landsmeet.  He had to figure out how to work things out.  Truthfully, he was afraid that Eamon would try to drive he and Alistair apart.  He had to make sure that didn’t happen.  Alistair was getting far better at standing up for himself but he still had it in his head that he owed Eamon.  He hoped he wouldn’t listen to him but he wasn’t certain.  Devyn knew at this point that Alistair did truly love him.  It wasn’t his naivete keeping him with him.  He was just afraid that what he would perceive as his duty to Ferelden would supercede that.  He glanced at Anora.  Maybe if he could get her on his side...but did he truly want to potentially ruin his country’s government just so he and his lover didn’t have to be separated?  When it was put like that, it sounded awful.  But the Blight had been misery after misery and the only good thing about it had been Alistair.  He didn’t want to lose him.  He was sweet, kind, good.  He was everything to him.

“Fenedhis.”

His thoughts were interrupted by Theron swearing under his breath.  Devyn looked up and saw that a large assemblage of guards stood in the main hall of the estate.  Leading them was Ser Cauthrien, the woman who traveled with Loghain.

“Wardens!” she said indignantly. “You are hereby under arrest for the murder of Arl Rendon Howe and his men.”

Ian’s eyes went wide.

“You can’t do that,” he said, “I killed Howe.  Look, I’m literally covered in his blood!”

She ignored him.

“The Wardens are under arrest,” she repeated.

Devyn glanced at Theron who had his arms folded tightly over his chest.  He looked over at Anora who, under her guard’s helmet, looked pensive.  Her eyes roved over the room as if she was wondering what she should do.  Devyn bit his lower lip.  They could probably take out the guards, maybe even Ser Cauthrien.  He knew, months ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to attempt to do just that.  That wouldn’t work, though.  It would show that the Grey Wardens were guilty of whatever the Teryn said.

He held his hands out.

“Fine.  Arrest us.  But let the others go.”

Theron looked at him frantically.

“What?!”

“We have to go quietly.  We’ll figure it out later,” he whispered.

Ser Cauthrien looked surprised.

“Very well.  I’m glad we were able to do this peacefully, Wardens.”

She motioned with her head and two guards came up with manacles.  They shackled both he and Theron and began leading them out of the estate.

“I hope you have a plan, lethallin,” Theron hissed out in an urgent whisper.

He hoped he did, too.

 


	19. Chapter 19

There was a vanity in the room the Arl provided for him and Alistair perched on it awkwardly.  The stool was made for someone much slighter than he was and he felt his legs slide off of it as he surveyed himself in the mirror.  He had just cut his hair and shaved, two things he had been long overdue for.  He rubbed his smoother cheeks and frowned at his reflection.  He didn’t think he looked like a King.  His hair stuck up weirdly in the front and his jaw was slightly crooked.  Or was it?  Alistair cocked his head and leaned further forward.

He could never be King.  The thought depressed him more than he figured it would.  He remembered what Devyn said outside his sister’s house.  He thought he had been getting better about it--standing up for himself.  Or at least making his desire known.  A few weeks ago, he never would have asked Devyn if it was alright if he put his prick in his mouth.  He wondered if that counted as the same thing.  Or if he could transfer that to talking about Eamon about this king business.  No, King.  Not just the title but it felt emphasized in Alistair’s mind.  Being King.  Maybe he could do it.  He squared his shoulders in the mirror and furrowed his brow.  Maybe.

In Redcliffe, he had demanded to know if anyone cared what he wanted but, what did he want?  Honestly, the only thing Alistair was certain of was Devyn.  Being King would make being with him difficult.  The Chantry would never allow them to marry.  He could remain a Warden and that would make that decision easier.  Dust his hands of his legacy and let Anora continue to rule Ferelden.  He frowned and placed his cheek against his fist.  Was that what he wanted?  He...didn’t know if he would ever choose to be King but he also didn’t really choose to be a Warden.  He was conscripted.  Conscripted to the Wardens and, before that, sent to the Chantry to become a Templar.  Nothing was ever his decision, was it?  Again, his mind went to Devyn.  He was his decision.  Maybe he didn’t plan on falling in love with him but it was something he did on his own.

“If I become King,” he said to his reflection, “I’ll need to study up on governance.  Find out what the people want...how to help them.  Maker, I’m considering this?”

Ferelden didn’t need him as a King.  He was bumbling, awkward...not really King material, was he?  Kings like King Maric probably didn’t sit around, paralyzed by indecision.

“Alistair?”

He turned and nearly fell off of the laughably small stool.  Eamon stood in the doorway to the room and Alistair hoped that he hadn’t just heard him talking to himself.

“Yes?”

He entered the room, shutting the door behind him, and sat on the bed, resting his hands on the tops of his knees.  Alistair smiled.  Eamon always made him feel at ease.  Not as much as Duncan had but he felt like he knew what he was doing, saying.

“Have you thought about the Landsmeet?” he asked.

As if he had been thinking of anything else.  Even the overhanging threat of the Blight was eclipsed by the impending Landsmeet.

“I haven’t stopped,” he admitted.

“And are you still adamantly opposed to being King?” Eamon’s eyebrows rose a half measure and Alistair couldn’t read his expression.

He shook his head and then shrugged.  It was easier than fumbling over words.  Plus, he still wasn’t sure what he wanted.

“Not...adamantly,” he said finally.

Eamon studied him and Alistair squirmed a bit under his discerning gaze.  He no longer felt at ease.

“You would be open, then, to being put forth as King?”

He shrugged again.  It was all he had.  He could be King or Grey Warden, it seemed.  There was no way for him to just be Alistair.

“Then we have to talk.”

Eamon’s voice grew grave and Alistair sat up as best he could on the stool.  He leaned his back against the vanity and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“About what?”

Eamon gestured to the belongings placed near the bedside table.  It was Devyn’s gear bag with his cooking supplies and various books in it.  One book was open with a whetstone keeping it that way.

“Oh, he’ll clean up when he gets back,” Alistair said, “We were just in a bit of a hurry when we got here.”

“It’s not that.” His face was serious and Alistair was reminded when he was little and staying in Redcliffe Castle.  The way Eamon would get when he misbehaved or made too much noise.  That feeling of stormy disappointment. “What is your relationship with this elf?”

“His name’s Devyn,” Alistair said, the words coming out more defensive than they had sounded in his head. “And...I don’t know what that has to do with anything…”

He knew.  Of course he knew.  Eamon wanted to put him forth as King and to do that his male, elf lover would only get in the way of a successful bid for the throne.

“Alistair…”

He sighed and rushed his fingers through his newly cut hair.

“What about our relationship?” he asked glumly.

Eamon brushed some stray lint off of his doublet as he spoke.

“If we are to put you forth as a viable candidate...it will be difficult.  Your lineage is murky.  Very few people know you’re Maric’s son.  There can be no further complications.”

Anger flared in his chest.

“He’s not a complication!” He stood up off of the stool and balled his fists. “I’m sorry Eamon.  I don’t know what I want yet but I do know that if I become King, it’ll be with him at my side.”

The Arl sighed and said, “Alistair, be reasonable.  He has three marks against him already.  Four if you count him being a commoner.”

“I was raised as a commoner,” Alistair said, “that was how everyone decided to raise me.  Just like how everyone decided everything for me.  He’s something I decided for myself.  And no matter what, I’m not leaving him.”

If Eamon was going to argue back, he never got the chance, because the door to Alistair’s room banged open.  Ian stood in the doorway, his chest heaving.  He was covered from head to toe in blood and seeing as he wasn’t convulsing on the floor, Alistair figured that it wasn’t his.

“Alistair!  I--” He broke off when he saw Eamon and eyed him coolly, “Oh, hello, Arl.  The Queen is looking for you.”

“My Lord.” Eamon eyed him equally as coolly and Alistair wondered why that was. “What does she need?”

“She was going to tell you while I ran and told Alistair but I guess this saves me the trouble.” For someone struggling to catch their breath, Ian was still pretty smooth.  Alistair was a wee bit jealous.

“What is it?” he asked.

Ian swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Devyn and Theron were taken by Ser Cauthrien,” he said.

“What?” His argument with Eamon forgotten, Alistair rushed to Ian and grabbed his upper arms, smearing his hands with blood. “Taken where?”

Eamon stood from the bed and shook his head while he sighed.

“Fort Drakon,” he said. “That is the highest profile place they could take them.”

Alistair pushed past Ian and began running down the hallway.  He would have to go back to his room to put his armor on but he had to find Maeve.

“Alistair!” Eamon called after him. “We need to finish…”

His voice trailed off as he turned a corner sharply.  He knew of Fort Drakon.  It was highly defensible.  It was the greatest and most thickly guarded prison in Ferelden.  He didn’t care.  His mind was no longer on his argument with Eamon, either.  He knew he just had to get them out of there no matter what.

\--

“Devyn...Devyn.  Wake up!”

He groggily opened his eyes to see Theron staring at him urgently.  His hair spilled over his shoulders and only somewhat disguised the fact that he was completely naked.  Devyn sat up and winced.  His joints were on fire.  He looked at his arms and saw that his elbows were bruised.  His knees as well.  This was how it was brought to his attention that he was naked as well.

“What happened?” he asked.

Theron pursed his lips and glanced through the bars of the cell they were in.  That he remembered.  He and Theron had been brought to a cell in Fort Drakon.  What he didn’t know was how he had ended up unconscious, somehow.

“You were mouthing off to the guards.”

Yes, that sounded like him.

“And then they beat you with these weighted sticks for a while and then you blacked out from the pain.”

Devyn scowled.  Now he remembered.  The pain had been bright, intense.  It was worse pain than when he had flipped that ogre over his head.  He had had adrenaline then, offsetting how in pain he was.  He noticed more bruises on his ankles and wrists.  The guards had gone for the joints, expertly finding what would hurt the most.  At Fort Drakon, they apparently did not play around.

“Did they do anything to you?”

Theron shook his head.

“No, but they want to--I heard them.” He hugged his knees to his chest. “What they’re doing to other people...did you see on our way here?”

Devyn nodded.  Theron was shaken up.  He hoped he wouldn’t shut down again.  They needed to get out of here.

“Can you pick this lock?” he asked.

Theron made a face and, ah, there was the snotty elf he knew and loved.

“With what?” he asked. “They took our gear.  That included my lockpicks.”

A guard walked by, far enough away not to hear their conversation but close enough to be called over.

“Think he has a key?” Devyn asked.

“Probably.”

He cast a look at Theron who managed to look better naked than he did with clothes.  Not that he hadn’t seen Theron naked before--he paraded around camp often enough--but it was never in this close a proximity.

“Honeypot,” he told him.

“What?”

“Call him over and do what you do best.”

Theron sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Fine.”

He pressed his body against the bars and held on to two of them.  Though he was standing still, it gave the illusion that he was writhing against them.

“Hey, come over here!” he called.  His voice sounded different--put on.

The guard turned and took in Theron up against the bars.

“Oh, Maker…” he said. “What is it?”

Theron batted his eyes at him and said, “I’m so lonely in here.  My friend won’t keep me company...will you?”

The guard was clearly not one of Fort Drakon’s finest because he couldn’t nod fast enough.  He unlocked their cell and got busy undoing his armor.

“I don’t normally go for men,” he said, “but I’ll make an exception for you.  You’re almost pretty like a girl.”

Theron curled his lips back from his teeth and shook his head.

“Devyn, please knock this shemlen out now.”

“What?”

The guard went down like a sack of potatoes.  Theron reached down and plucked the ring of keys from his half-undone armor.

“We might need it,” he said.

Devyn nodded but he felt dizzy.  Exerting that much effort made his injuries flare up.  Maker, they hurt.  Their gear was stashed in a box near the edge of their cell.

“We ought to get disguises,” Devyn said, “we can’t just walk out of here.”

Theron shook his head. “No time.  If we fight our way out, we fight our way out.  Wardens can’t actually be kept as prisoners, can they?”

He wasn’t sure why Theron was bringing that up.  Maybe he was thinking about a way to cover their asses when word got out that they escaped prison.

“Hopefully not,” Devyn said.  Under his armor, his bruises ached more.  He would worry about them later.

He shouldered his axe and the moment his hand was free, Theron took it.

“What are you--?”

He put a finger to his lips and then drew them both into the shadows.  He had seen Theron and Zevran do this before.  Slip unnoticed into shadows.  It was odd.  He could see all the guards--they were rushing in the direction they were heading but Devyn didn’t know why--but they couldn’t see the two of them.

They crept along the shadows until they entered what seemed like the main gallery.  Trebuchets lined the walls and that confused Devyn since they were inside.  More pressing than that was the battle currently taking place in the center of the room.  The guards were rushing in from all sides to attack a group of people fighting.  Even so, their great numbers were seemingly no match.  The group was small, of maybe four people.  Devyn reached back to grab his axe and winced.  The pain was bad.  Still, these four would get overwhelmed by guards soon enough.  He and Theron had to help.

“Did someone come to rescue us?” Theron asked. “Because it’s hard to tell from back here but I’m sure one of the ones fighting is Kierin.”

Devyn took a step forward to get a closer look.  He didn’t care if he lost his stealth since the guards wouldn’t notice him anyway.  Sure enough, he saw that one of the four fighting had short blond hair and pointed ears.  Next to him was a woman with curly hair and he knew that to be Maeve.

“Of course they’d come,” he said with a slight roll of his eyes.  Theron nodded his agreement.

Out of the shadows, a lithe figure came out and slammed twin daggers into the shoulder joint of a guard.  Theron put both hands over his mouth and blushed.

“Zevran came?” he asked.

The fourth person was in the thick of several guards but Devyn could see he was taller.  He also recognized the shield--it was Alistair.

“Come on.  We have to help them.”

Devyn dashed out and drew his axe.  The pain was beginning to make him even dizzier but he didn’t care.  He swung at two guards, knocking them to the ground.  He spotted another two coming up behind Alistair.  He ran towards them, keeping his head down.  Alistair turned at the last minute and made to raise his shield.  Devyn jumped up and smashed the two guards’ heads together.  Alistair looked confused but then his face cleared in recognition.

“Devyn?”

“Hey,” he said.  It was all he managed to get out before the room began to spin and everything went dark.

\--

Theron didn’t know why he was sent to bed.  Devyn had been the one to get injured and pass out.  Wynne and Tobias had worked their magic and he was healed but resting.  Alistair, of course, had yet to leave his side.  Kierin had pointed out that Theron had a cold and to that, he had to reply, “I always have a cold!”  Usually he would at least attempt to deny it but there was no hiding the fact that he was almost constantly cursed with a cold of some sort.

He’d rather be with the others, plotting their next move.  Anora apparently had information about where turmoil was the worst.  Instead, he was confined to his bed with a bowl of soup that wasn’t even made by Devyn.  Needless to say, he was not particularly pleased.

He sat up in the bed and wiggled a bit on the mattress.  The first time he had slept in a bed, he had all but collapsed after Redcliffe.  The other time had been before coming to Denerim.  Theron thought them a bit too soft, at first, having been used to a bedroll his whole life.  But he liked them now.  Mattresses were nice, soft, but he was certain that the ones Eamon had weren’t like the ones that, say, Maeve and Devyn had in their home.

Theron hummed a bit to himself and settled back on the pillows.  Pondering the softness of the mattress was easier than letting his mind wander to topics it did not wish to.  The impending Blight, his increasing dreams about the Archdemon, worry over his friend...and Zevran.  Zevran had gone with the others to Fort Drakon.  Why?  Alistair, of course, would.  He was a disaster of a human but, at his core, he was noble and he would probably storm the gates of the Black City for Devyn.  Maeve was another obvious one to go.  Kierin as well, the overprotective git.  But Zevran...he had gone with them.  It couldn’t be to unlock doors for them--he didn’t even own a set of lockpicks.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  He also knew that he shouldn’t be focusing on his love life with the Blight at stake, but Theron knew he was never one to really think about the bigger picture.  He was self-centered and this was no new fact.  Never mind that he was sent to bed like a child.  Even if he wanted to talk plans and strategies, he’d be scolded by Kierin or, worse, Maeve.

The door to the room open and Theron flopped down on the bed, pretending to be asleep.

“It’s just me.”

He threw back the duvet and lifted his head a little to see Zevran standing in the doorway.  Well, he wouldn’t be scolded, at least.  Theron got back into the seated position and settled his blankets around him.

“Hey,” he said and waved a hand.

Zevran smiled and it was...off.  No, not off.  Real.  It wasn’t a seductive smile or a come-on.  It was a real smile, full-up.  It reached his eyes and brightened his entire face.

“You had me worried, you know.”

Theron arched his brows and tried to quell the excitement that made his heart skip.  He still didn’t know where he stood with Zevran.  He knew he was willing to take that plunge but after his stilted antics after the incident with Taliesin, he wasn’t sure if Zevran was as well.  He didn’t want to put himself out there just to be shoved down.

“Did I?”

He approached the bed but did not join him or even perch on the edge.  Instead, he stood there, wringing his hands and sighing.

“You’ve done me in,” he admitted.

“Huh?”

Zevran reached back and fiddled with the braid in his hair.  He undid it and ran his fingers through the blond locks nervously.

“I am not good with this,” he said. “I do not even know how a relationship would go...before The Crows, I was raised in a brothel with the other children whose mothers were companions.  Who died.”

Theron wanted to say something but decided against it.  This was the most candid Zevran had been with him--when he knew for certain he was listening, anyway--and he didn’t want to interrupt.

“Love has been a game, a tool...a form of currency.  I have never wooed someone with the prospect of being with them.  Only to end their life.” He sighed and tugged at the ends of his hair.  It was as though he didn’t know what to do with them. “And then you.  It took a while...the sex was fine at first.  That was...but then, I don’t know.  Something changed.”

“That day in the woods.”

He couldn’t help himself but to say it.  When they walked together and just...were.  How safe he felt with him, how he felt he could trust him.  A darker part of him taunted him that that was how he and Tamlen bonded, in the woods, being alone together.  He tried to ignore it.  Zevran nodded.

“Yes.  When you took me joyriding on a bear.” He smiled and it was almost like a wince of pain. “It was...things changed after that.  I started to see more of you and I...started to fall in love with you.”

He sighed and shifted his amber gaze to the wall over Theron’s shoulder.  This was obviously hard for him.  His usual charm and easygoing demeanor was gone.  Zevran stood rigid, almost afraid.

“Brasca,” he said and shook his head.

Theron bit his lower lip and waited for him to continue.  When he didn’t, he spoke.

“I meant what I said before.  About wanting to move on and move on with you.  Is that...what you’re saying?  You want to be with me.  Really be with me?”

He looked at him and nodded.

“Yes.”

Zevran’s shoulders went down and he looked a bit more relaxed after that one word.  It said nothing and everything.  He reached into a pouch at the waist of his leathers.

“I still have the earring.” He spoke slowly as if measuring his words each time he spoke. “If you want it.”

He produced it and held it in the palm of his hand.  Theron looked at it and at the small spot amongst his other piercings where it was missing.

“You’ll have to pierce my ear for me,” he said.

“So you want it?”

Theron figured he could play hard to get.  Shrug and ask for more meaning but he knew Zevran wasn’t comfortable with that.  He had had to work himself up to this confession already.  Plus, he didn’t want that himself.  He just wanted to be with him.

“Of course.”

Zevran put the earring in his hand and closed his fingers around it.  Theron looked at him and gave a breathy chuckle that dissolved into a smile.  He leaned in and kissed him gently.  Zevran crawled up onto the bed to get closer, get a better angle.

“What’s ‘I love you’ in Elven?” he asked against his lips.

“Ma’arlath,” Theron whispered back.

“Ma’arlath...in Antivan, it’s te amo.”

“Te amo.”

\--

There was a small library in the Arl’s estate and it was mercifully empty.  It hadn’t been when Maeve arrived.  Tobias had been on the floor, reading a book.  At her entrance, he’d jumped up and ran out of the room like his trousers were on fire.  She didn’t quite get him.  The others their allies had sent kept to themselves but Tobias was underfoot much of the time.  Maeve didn’t mind, really.  He didn’t talk much and he was a good healer.

She settled down into a chair in the corner and sighed.  Tomorrow they were going to the Alienage, home.  She still thought of it that way.  The walled cage where she had spent her youth.  Watching her parents die, then her aunt, and countless others from illness and violence.  But it was home.  She knew of the purge and knew not of her remaining family’s status.  Of Nelaros’s.  They were going into that unknown tomorrow.  She prayed it would be a family reunion followed by working through to the root of the turmoil and anxiety but if anything on this quest had taught her anything, it was that it was never that easy.

Riordan, though, was a gift from the Maker.  An actual veteran Warden to help guide them in the coming battle.  He had decades of experience.  The only “veteran” they had had before was Alistair, who had become a Grey Warden a whopping six months before the rest of them.  Maybe he was a sign of change.  Things were going to get better, easier.

Maeve rubbed her temples.  She was just glad that the mantle of Warden leadership was taken from her.  At least that was what she hoped.  So far his appearance hadn’t changed anything.  The entire time Queen Anora spoke, Kierin and Cassan kept looking to her for guidance like surly little puppies.  She honestly missed Theron being there to toss his hair and make blunt comments.  Alistair had been absent as well.  He and Eamon had had a fight earlier and when Eamon had asked him to be present, in a surprising show of backbone, Alistair had snapped at him.  Maeve didn’t know what it was about but she had a sneaking suspicion that it was about her cousin.  She wasn’t oblivious to the looks Eamon kept shooting him when he and Alistair were together.  That she didn’t know how to deal with.  She knew they had to trust Eamon and put up at least an image of being grateful for his help.  She just wasn’t sure if she could balance that with her protective instincts over Devyn.

The door to the library opened and Cassan slipped in.  Maeve smiled thinly.  She had wanted to be left alone.  The younger girl stood in the middle of the small room and crossed her arms.  It wasn’t a defiant gesture but more like something that was of the default with Cassan.  Like she didn’t know what to do with her hands if she wasn’t casting a spell.  She looked about to go to bed if the oversized nightshirt she wore was any indication.  It was overly large on her--even larger than when Devyn wore Alistair’s shirts--and so Maeve figured that it was Ian’s.  She did not pretend to understand Cassan’s relationship with the Lord and honestly it didn’t interest her in the least.

“I thought you said you were going to see Morrigan.”

Cassan shrugged.

“I did.  I had a present to give her and I did and then it was...well, she’s not feeling well.”

Maeve nodded.

“What’s the Alienage like?” she asked.  Cassan’s brow was knit and her mouth set in a scowl like she was upset that she was curious.

“You didn’t live in one before the Circle?”

She shook her head.

“No.  I think my mother was a mage, maybe.  I don’t know.  Castor and I were born in a Chantry orphanage and shunted off to the Circle when we showed signs of magic.”

Maeve nodded.  She remembered Cassan’s brother.  He was an...eerily happy sort.

“You went to the Alienage when you came with Duncan,” she reminded her, “and called us flat-ears.”

Cassan made a pained expression and looked away.

“Yeah, well, I was an asshole then.” She paused. “A bigger asshole.”

Maeve chuckled.  At least she was aware.  Somehow, Cassan had changed.  She had loosened up a little, sanded her edges so she wasn’t so aggressively volatile and venomous.

“It was...it’s difficult to say,” Maeve said, deciding to answer her question. “It’s a hard place to live.  It’s filthy and dank, and there’s never enough to go around.  You live under constant scrutiny from the guards and nobles but...it’s also a community.  A place of family and friends.”

Cassan nodded.

“Circle’s kind of the same--not that I had many friends...or any.” She scowled and added, “but that was how I liked it.  You lot are my first friends.”

Maeve smiled a bit.  Cassan noted it and lifted her pointed nose in the air slightly.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Tabris.”

\--

What Devyn woke up to was news that he was going home.  After all this time, he would be allowed back in the Alienage.  Anora had said that it was where the worst of the turmoil in the city was.  She had said it was odd since not many elves had gone to Ostagar.  Devyn liked the Queen fine.  She was shrewd and clever but at the end of the day, she was still a noble and still human.  She couldn’t figure out why the Alienage was so much worse.  He knew that.  The most shat upon part of the city was feeling the worst of the effects of the Civil War and Blight.  Surprise that noble in-fighting led to elves getting the short end of the stick again.  But, then again, he’d lived it.

The guard opened up the gates for them and the familiar smells of home hit him.  There was something else, though.  A faint fragrance of decay.  Buildings were burned and those that weren’t were in worse states of dilapidation.  That wasn’t good.  As Kierin came at the group, the guard shut the gate behind them too quickly.

“I’m not gonna get beaten up, am I?” Alistair asked, chuckling weakly.

Devyn gave him a small smile and said, “Your ears are a little bit pointed for a human.  We can maybe pass you off.”

Theron snorted. “Not with how big he is.”

Near the gates a lone human stood.  He was taller than the gaggle of elves that surrounded him but was shaking visibly, clutching himself.  Devyn recognized a few that were bothering him.  They snarled a bit and the human ran off, probably the other gate to leave.  Separating himself from the others, he approached the group.

“Hey.”

A man he knew only as Raf turned to scowl at him.

“Look who finally deemed us worthy of a visit,” he drawled.

“Thought he was dead,” another one, Dalloran, chimed in.

They ignored Maeve but Devyn reckoned they didn’t know her that well.  He and Shianni had run with them for a bit when they had been cool older kids he had wanted so desperately to impress.

“They wouldn’t let me in, assholes,” he shot back partly because he was angry but partly because that was how he knew to talk to this group.

Raf snorted.  He had been one of the ones Devyn had taken up with when he was younger.  After Alarith.  He’d been only a step above the likes of Elva’s husband and the humans he’d pick up at the tavern.

“You look different,” he said.  His eyes roamed up and down like he could see Devyn’s body through his armor. “Good different.”

“Come off it,” he said, blushing despite himself.  For months, no one had actually looked at him except Alistair and the sudden attention was embarrassing. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

Dalloran laughed and said, “Ask scarlet.”

That sounded ominous.  Scarlet had been Shianni’s nickname when they had run with them as kids.  The others remained back and the other elves hadn’t noticed them back.  It was just as well.  Devyn wasn’t going to be getting anywhere with them.

“Maybe see you around, scars,” a third member chimed in.  Scars had been his own, extremely predictable, nickname.

Raf gave him a last appraising look and the group sauntered off.  That seemed to be the cue for the others to step past the gate and walk up with him.

“I always hated them,” Maeve said with distaste.

Cassan, meanwhile, was eyeing him in a very disarming way.

“How many of them did you bed, pipsqueak?”

He pulled a face and tried not to look sideways at Alistair.

“I only slept with Raf.  The one with the braid.”

Theron smiled gleefully and added, “‘Slept with.’  Does that mean you did other stuff with the rest of them?”

He shot an icy glare at Theron’s betrayal.  Maeve glared as well.

“None of your business.”

The fact that it was true wasn’t important.  He had been eager to please the group and did a lot of things for them and to them that he shouldn’t have.

“He’s blushing!” Theron crowed.

“I think it’s the sun getting to him,” Kierin added with a smirk.  It seemed that he was over the trauma of his big reveal and back to his grouchy, mean self.

“Lay off!”

The others fell silent, though it was maybe in surprise since the person who yelled at them wasn’t himself or Maeve but Alistair.

“Whatever happened with them years ago doesn’t mean anything,” he continued. “Let’s get on with what we have to do, alright?”

The three of them nodded.  Devyn hung back as the group moved further into the Alienage and entwined his arm with Alistair’s.

“Thanks, love,” he said.

Alistair smiled his usually goofy, awkward smile down at him.

“To be honest, I yelled for somewhat selfish means.  I was getting a little jealous.”

Devyn pressed his cheek against his armored arm as they walked.

“Don’t be jealous.  They’re gross.” With a bit of a devilish smile, he added, “Plus for someone with zero previous experience, you’re better than Raf in bed.”

Alistair blushed a bit.

“Good to know.”

They continued walking and Devyn bit the inside of his cheek.  The altercation with Raf and the group had distracted him from the worry.  There had been a purge.  In the last purge, his Aunt Chelis had died.  He was afraid to see what the results of this one were.

\--

There was a commotion in the center of the Alienage but Maeve knew that they had to go home first.  The door to the house still hung crooked on the hinges from Devyn throwing it open in excitement a few too many times.  Nelaros would fix it but then he would do it again.  The moment the door opened, two tiny forms darted out past them, jabbering loudly.  Maeve turned and saw that it was Tora and Halstred, their friend Gunnar’s younger siblings.  Of course Uncle Cyrion would take them in.

“Hi, hi, hi hi!” they shouted in unison.

In that sort of timing only twins could have, they turned their heads towards Kierin as one.

“What?” he asked.

“Sword!” Tora exclaimed.

“Face-y things!” Halstred added.

They rushed him, jumping up on him like he was family.  Kierin stood there, unsure what to do.  Then again, Maeve had seen him in Redcliffe and before, in Lothering.  He was good with children.  They seemed to take to him despite how outwardly angry he looked.

“Stop that,” a tired, weary voice said from inside.

Maeve turned to see Soris approaching the doorway.  He looked smaller, somehow, and sad.

“Hey, cousin.”

At the sound of her voice, he perked up.

“Maeve?”

Soris and Shianni weren’t her cousins.  Not really.  She was related to Devyn through his mother’s side.  Shianni and Soris were his father’s sisters’ children.  Still, they had always been close, always been family.  She gave him a hug.  When they broke apart, she saw that there were tears in his eyes.

“You’re alive,” he said, sniffling.

“She’s not the only one.”

Soris turned and smiled broadly as he saw Devyn.  Breaking away from Maeve, he grabbed him into a fiercely tight hug.

“We were all so worried,” he bleated, really crying now.

Devyn hugged him back and she saw tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“They wouldn’t let us get any word in,” he said as they broke the hug. “I’ve no idea what’s going on.  Where is everyone?”

Soris wiped his eyes and seemed to just notice the others.  He smiled thinly and blushed.

“Nesiara went back to Highever,” he said, “Nelaros is down fixing something for Alarith...Shianni’s...well, she’s being Shianni.”

There was more he wasn’t saying.

“Where’s Valora?”

Soris looked away and shook his head.  Maeve put her fingers to her lips.

“The purge?” Devyn asked.

He shook his head and said, “There’s been this illness going around.  After the purge.  They quarantined us.  Valora got it.  She went to the clinic the mages set up a week or so ago.”

“The mages?” Cassan piped up. “You have mages here?”

Soris looked suddenly nervous as he spoke to her, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Human mages.  From Tevinter.  They’re healers.”

“Where’s my father?”

He looked away again. “Ask Shianni.”

Maeve eyed him straight in the face.  Soris was the one she always got to crack when she had to interrogate the three of them over something that happened.  All she had to do was not break eye contact and he crumpled like parchment.

“Where is she?”

“Near the vhenadahl.”

“You have a vhenadahl?” Theron asked.

Soris nodded and he smiled.  Whatever Kierin’s reaction would be, Maeve had no idea.  Halstred and Tora were on top of him and had knocked him to the ground.

“It’s one thing I wish we could have in the clan,” he said, “but we travel too much.”

Soris had an expression on his face that seemed to say that he had no idea what to make of Theron.  Maeve remembered that he thought the Dalish elves were folklore and that Alarith had been making it up.

“She’s calling for mien’harel,” Soris said, tearing his gaze away from Theron.

Maeve felt her eyes go wide.

“She’s what?”

“Nice!” Devyn exclaimed.  She shot him a look so he crinkled his brow and said, “Not nice?”

“What’s mee-en-hair-el?” Alistair asked.

“Mien’harel,” Kierin said.  He got up from where Tora and Halstred had him pinned.  He wrestled the twins so he had one of them under each arm. “An uprising--rebellion.”

Maeve rubbed her temples.  What was Shianni getting herself into?

\--

It was a lot to take in, Devyn thought.  He had no idea what happened to his father.  Soris had been cagey and secretive, which wasn’t like him.  Shianni was calling for a rebellion.  How bad were things in the Alienage?

They followed the commotion to the center where a large group of elves was yelling a several men in furred robes.  They had to be the healers that Soris had told them about.

“Please, please,” one said.  He turned his hands out in a placating gesture.  He spoke in a Tevinter accent.  He knew it because Alarirth had the same one. “I know tensions are high but in order for us to heal you--”

“Bullshit!” A voice he recognized as Shianni’s piped up, “You say you’re helping us but why is it that every elf you take into your clinic never comes back?”

“Shianni!  Quiet!” This from another elf.  She ignored him and pressed on.

“Where’s Valendrian?  Where’s my Uncle Cyrion?”

A murmur rippled through the crowd and the healer threw his hands out in a grand gesture and turned to his fellow mages.

“Shianni?” he asked as they approached.

“Stop telling me to--” she cut herself off, apparently having prepared for being told to stop again.  Instead her eyes went wide and she slowly turned. “Cousin?”

Devyn raised his hand in a wave.

“I thought that sounded like you,” she said and punched him in the arm.  Her fist bounced off of his armor with a clang but if it hurt her, she didn’t show it. “Maeve, too?”

Maeve nodded.  Shianni hugged them in turn and then glanced at the others.

“Who’re they?”

“Fellow Grey Wardens,” Maeve said, “Cassan, Kierin, Theron, and Alistair.”

Shianni looked at them, a wry smile on her face.

“All elves--well, except that one.”

“What’s going on?” Devyn pressed. “Where’s my father?  What’s with these Vints?”

She sighed and said, “They say they’re healers but no one they healed has come back.  Valora, Valendrian...your father.  I’m worried.  They won’t let anyone else into their clinic except ‘sick elves.’”

That sounded suspicious.  Devyn felt his anger rise.  If one of those assholes did anything to his father...

“We’ll need to get in there,” Maeve said in her Leader voice. “One of us can pretend to have...whatever illness they’re saying and find out information.”

“How’re you going to convince them one of you is sick?” Shianni asked.

As if on cue, Theron sneezed and then sniffled through his stuffed up nose.  He looked up and saw that the others were all staring at him.

“What?”

\--

Theron shuffled up to the clinic, coughing steadily into his hand.  He blinked up at one of the Tevinter mages with bleary eyes and sniffled.

“I need healing,” he bleated dolefully.

The mage smiled and turned to one of his compatriots.

“See?”

Theron shuddered a bit and sniffled again.  The mage that seemed to be their leader stared at him intently.

“What are those markings on your face?” he asked warily.

“I...got tattoos.  To look Dalish,” he said, thinking quickly. “I admire them.”

He didn’t know if there were many Dalish in Tevinter or if they were learned enough to know that his markings were actual vallaslin but it seemed to placate them.  He had left his bow with the others, wanting to appear unarmed as they led him into the clinic.  He heard a soldier utter “pretty one.  Get good coin” under their breath.  He didn’t know what that meant.

Inside the clinic there were no cots, no beds where sick elves lay.  It was empty save for a desk and some armed guards.  The guards led him to another armored figure near the wooden desk.  Theron saw a pile of gold and some parchment on its surface and frowned.

“Got another one,” a guard said. “Pretty, isn’t he?”

The captain went to nod but as his eyes landed on Theron, they narrowed.

“This is one of the ones from the pictures!” he snapped. “Who the Teryn wants!”

The Teryn?  That was Loghain, right?  What was he planning here?  Theron knew interrogation wasn’t his strong point.  Instead, he just opted to kill the guards.  There were a handful of them with their big curved swords, but Theron was faster.  He slipped in and out of the shadows, stabbing them in kill spots.  When it was over, he stood over their bodies and cackled to himself.

“The Might of Tevinter,” he said with a giggle. “You just got beaten by a Dalish elf with a head cold!”

Naturally, the soldiers, being dead, couldn’t hear his gloating.  Without the clash of swords and the gurgle of people dying, Theron could make out a sound coming from a back room.  It sounded like shouting.  He followed the sound to the door and opened it.  The walls were lined with cages that contained elves.

“Let us out!” one in the front with a black eye pleaded. “We aren’t sick!”

Theron worked quickly, getting the locks undone.  The elves raced out through a back door.  He frowned.  This place was no clinic.  He made his way back over to the desk and picked up a note.  He was never that good at reading so he just pocketed it.  With a sweep of his hand, he also took their sovereigns.  He slipped outside through the back door and made his way round the front.  The crowd had dissipated while he was inside and the mages lay dead on the ground.  He saw Devyn pulling his axe out of the back of one of them and figured that it meant that his fellow Wardens were behind it.

“They heard you fighting in there, lethallin,” Kierin explained, “and just snapped.”

Devyn kicked one of their bodies with a booted foot.

“Shame, that,” he said, not even bothering to hide his glee.

The red headed girl--another one of Devyn’s cousins, apparently--came back over.  She looked over the dead bodies and shook her head.  A dangerous little smile was twisted on her lips and Theron wondered if this was a family trait.

“How did it go inside?” It took him a moment to realize that she was speaking to him.

Theron reached into the pouch he kept at the waist of his leathers and extracted the note.

“I found this,” he said as he handed it over to her, “I’m not sure what it means, though.  Something about shipments?”

Shianni took the note and looked it over.  Her brow was furrowed in confusion as she read over it.

“Shipping?” she asked. “Shipping what?  Shipping people?”

Devyn looked at the note and then the mages’ bodies and a scowl appeared on his face.

“Tevinter,” he said sourly. “And ‘shipping.’  They’re selling our people into slavery.”

“The Teh-rin’s involved,” Theron said, “when I got in there, they said that I was one of the ones the Teh-rin told them about.”

“Teryn,” Maeve corrected him absently, like it was an instinct. “Where would they be taking them?”

Shianni tapped her lower lip, thinking.

“Through the back.  Where the apartments are.”

Devyn nodded, obviously knowing what she was talking about.  Theron, meanwhile, wondered what “apartments” meant.

“When did they take my father?”

Shianni lowered her eyes and said, “A few days ago.”

Devyn’s face grew remote.  Maeve bit her lip and looked down.  She didn’t look as visibly upset as Devyn but Theron could tell by the way the armor over her shoulders shook that she was just as worried.

“Ferelden doesn’t have slavery!” Alistair cried, his voice sudden and loud. “It’s illegal!”

Devyn snorted and turned to him.

“Love, I know that’s what they say but it happens.  Especially here.  You think anyone’s gonna care that a few elves have gone missing?  Loghain--and I’m sure Howe--have been here for weeks and no one’s noticed.  No one cares about us, but us.”

Alistair frowned and shook his head.

“Well, they should.”

\--

Devyn knew the apartments fairly well.  It was where Gunnar lived--when he wasn’t stuck at the Pearl--and where his friend Isaac had lived before the Circle took him.  He knew the hidden passageways and places to go, where the Vints could sneak through.  If anything happened to his father...he honestly wasn’t sure what he would do.  He knew it would be bloody, though.

“So this is a big building with several small places where people live?” Theron asked.  Apparently the concept of apartments was astounding to him.

“Yes,” Maeve answered patiently.  She sounded distracted, though. “You pay rent to a human landlord and they can kick you out whenever they want.”

He shook his head in disgust.  Devyn ignored them and kept walking forward.  He didn’t know why he thought moving faster would somehow stop his father from whatever fate they had planned.  If he was already gone, it didn’t matter if he ran.  Someone else would be lost because he didn’t come fast enough.  If he hadn’t turned himself in and gone to Fort Drakon, he could have stopped his father from going to the phony healers.  He clenched his fists.

He didn’t pay attention to what came next.  There was an elf girl who they convinced to take them to her leader, the magister in charge of the entire slave trade.  He made them an offer but Devyn didn’t let him finish.  He just lopped his head off with his axe.  All around him were elves in cages.  It wasn’t until he saw the figure alone in a cramped cage did reality reassert itself and he realized where he was.

“Papa!” he cried.

He rushed to the cage and gripped the padlock in one hand.  He snapped it cleanly off and threw the door to the cage open.

“...I’ll unlock the other cages,” he heard Theron say behind him.

“Devyn?” His father blinked at him in surprise. “You’re...alive?”

He nodded and felt tears well in his eyes.  He had missed his father.  The man who patiently waited up for him when he was out getting drunk.  Who taught him how to cook and bake.  Who never called him strange when he talked about seeing ghosts.  He embraced him tightly, tears streaming down his face.

“Papa…” he whimpered.

He was vaguely aware of the others gathering evidence behind him but it was lost on him.  He felt like his world kept shifting from clarity to blurriness.

“I’m gonna get you home,” he said quietly.

\--

Devyn sat outside his childhood home and sighed.  His armor suddenly felt like it weighed a ton, crushing him done.  Last time he was here he had been in a poorly fitted wedding shirt and trousers that were too fancy for him.  Then borrowed servant’s clothes.  Now he was back in armor and armed and didn’t have to worry about getting arrested for it.  He looked over to see Maeve and Nelaros’s reunion.  It was as calm and boring as their marriage was.  A lot of gentle touches and small smiles.  As he had predicted, girls were crowding around Theron, gushing about how attractive he was while Cassan stood nearby and rolled her eyes.  Kierin was again mobbed by Tora and Halstred.

“Lemme see your sword!” she gushed.

“Is that your real hair color?” Halstred asked even though his hair was even blonder than Kierin’s.

“You alright?”

Devyn glanced up to see Alistair standing over him.

“I am now.  Why?”

He rubbed the back of his head nervously as he spoke.

“Well...you got kind of intense there.  It was like you were gone and this weird...vengeance creature had taken your place.”

Devyn put his hand to the side of his head and nodded.  That sounded a bit like what he experienced in the blurriness of the previous fight.

“Yeah…” he couldn’t exactly argue. “I’m fine now.  Do you wanna meet my father?”

He got to his feet and smiled cheekily.  He was definitely feeling more like himself.  Alistair, meanwhile, looked a bit green.  It would be impossible for him to introduce Devyn to his parents and so he obviously hadn’t thought of this situation.

“Come on.  He’s inside.  He should be done looking for...whatever he said.”

Devyn held his hand out and Alistair slipped his inside.  He looked like he had a bit more on his mind than just meeting his lover’s father.  Not that he could blame him.  The Landsmeet was becoming a distinct reality.  That was something they would have to talk about later.

Instead of press him about it, he opened the door and stepped into his house.

“Papa?”

His father glanced up from a hole in their floor.  A floorboard rested next to him and in his hands he held a knife.  Devyn’s eyes widened.  He knew that knife.  It was his mother’s.  He thought the guards had taken it when they took her, but he had apparently been wrong.

“Ah, Devling, I wanted to...who’s this?” He stared at Alistair cautiously.

“Papa, this is Alistair.” Devyn placed his other hand over their joined hands and smiled up at him. “He’s...someone special to me.”

“He’s a human.”

“Well, yeah...but he’s a good one.  Promise.”

His father stared at him and then at Alistair who smiled awkwardly.  He had to see the physical differences at the very least.  Alistair was easily better-looking than any other human he had ever taken to bed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Serrah Tabris,” he said in his adorably stilted voice.

His face softened just a measure and Devyn figured that Alistair passed some sort of test.  He approached him and handed him the knife.

“For you.  I know it’s not your...preferred style.” He gestured to his axe. “But she would want you to have it.”

“Thanks, papa.” He tried to stop tears from coming back.  He didn’t want to cry any more today.

“If you don’t have to go back just yet, I can make you dinner.”

At the sound of that, Alistair perked up and Devyn bumped him with his hip.  Sometimes he was too predictable.

“Of course.  We’ll tell the others to head on back and us and Maeve’ll stay.”

“Your friends can come too,” he said.

Devyn shook his head.

“You’ll regret offering Theron food.  Trust me.”

“I’ll tell them,” Alistair offered.  He leaned down and kissed Devyn’s cheek before he left.

Devyn smiled as he left and turned back to see his father still looking at him.

“He’s good, papa,” he assured him. “Promise.”

“Forgive me if I don’t trust your judgment, Devling.” He ruffled his hair and Devyn let out a squawk of indignation.

He was going to say more but saw Soris glowering at him.  He broke away from his father and walked up to him.

“What’s up?”

“Just that you saved the day.  Again.” He sighed. “And I did nothing.”

“You jealous, Sor?”

He shook his head and then seemed to change his mind and nodded.

“A little.  I mean, you and Maeve get to go and be heroic and Shianni has her causes and I have...nothing.  I hide and let other people deal with things.  I only went with you to the Arl’s Estate because you were there, too.  I don’t know if I would do it on my own…”

Devyn wasn’t good at comforting and he didn’t know what to say because, no, Soris probably wouldn’t.  He was the most cautious of them, holding his cheeks and saying “oh no!” whenever he and Shianni did anything.

“But you still did,” he tried. “Besides, being a Grey Warden isn’t all fun…”

“Really?  You get to spend time with that cute one with the black hair…”

He cackled and shook his head. “Sorry, Sor.  Theron’s taken.”

“Not him.  The girl--the mage!”

Devyn choked on his own spit and pulled a disgusted face.

“You think Cassan’s cute?!”

Soris shrugged helplessly and smiled.  At least he wasn’t moping, he figured.  Devyn punched him playfully in his shoulder--gentle as he could--and walked back outside.  Alistair nabbed his arm and pulled him aside.

“I’ve made a decision,” he said and he looked pained to say it. “I want to be King.”

Devyn blinked at him, trying to parse it out.  He had just been talking to his cousin and his father before that.  Now his lover was telling him that he wanted to be King.

“You do?  What brought this on?”

Alistair bit his lip and looked around the Alienage.

“Seeing this.  I want to make things better.  For elves...for your family.”

He smiled, the bit lip pulling out from his teeth as he did.

“But I don’t want that to mean the end of us.”

Devyn scratched his ear and frowned.

“It won’t.  Let me figure something out.  You really want this?”

He nodded.  Devyn tapped his lower lip.  Alistair had decided he wanted this.  Now he just had to figure out how to work the Landsmeet to end in both of their favors.  How hard could that be?

 


	20. Chapter 20

The tailor clicked her tongue as another seam popped.  Cassan snorted a laugh from her spot on the bed.  Ian glared at her from where he stood in the center of the room.  Eamon had decided that the revelation of his survival in addition to Howe’s death meant that Ian was now the Teryn of Highever.  Cassan knew it was just a ploy to give them an extra vote in the Landsmeet.  She didn’t know why.  With Anora’s testimony and the evidence they took off of that Tevinter mage, they should have no problem swaying the decision in their favor.  Not that Eamon listened to anything any of them said.  He said that Ian was going to represent them and so that meant he had to look the part.  He only had grimy traveling leathers so the tailor had been sicced on him.  There was, of course, an issue.  The tailor--and Eamon--insisted that Ian wear sleeves but it wasn’t going well.  The silk the tailor was using had no give and Ian’s arms were not cooperating.

“My Lord…” she said with an exasperated sigh.

“Sorry.”

Cassan laughed again.  It was rather comical to see her constantly make sleeves only for Ian flex remotely and have the seams rip open.

“I can respect that your physique is...impressive, my Lord, but I fear this may be futile.”

She slid her hand over the swell of his upper arm.  Cassan’s laugh petered into a disgusted grunt.  The tailor looked to be even older than Eamon and she was still coming onto Ian.

“I agree.” Ian flexed his arm so it bulged against her fingers, causing the woman to blush. “Let’s just agree to let my arms free-ball.”

Cassan shook her head.

“Not a good enough reason to use the word ‘free-ball,’ hamhead.”

The tailor nodded.  She was charmed but, more likely, she was sick of wasting perfectly good silk.  She gathered her things, bowed her head, and left.  Ian looked at the vest and trousers she had finished earlier and twisted his lips to the side.

“This is ridiculous.”

“I’ll say.  Eamon asked that I wear my hair down.  As if everyone wouldn’t know I was an elf.” Cassan rolled her eyes.

“He said that?”

She nodded.

“Shit.”

He began undoing the clasps on the vest and Cassan watched him as she kicked her legs a little over the edge of the bed.

“So...I talked to Devyn.”

He squinted his eyes in slight confusion.  He slid the vest down from his shoulders and placed it over the back of a chair.

“Alright.”

“About...the thing I feel for you and what that means about what I feel for women...and only women.”

“Why’d you ask him?”

She sighed and twisted a strand of hair around her finger from where it had escaped her horsetail.

“Well--and do _not_ tell him this--but he’s actually pretty smart.”

Ian smirked but made a motion like he was locking the side of that ridiculous mouth of his.

“And what’d he say?”

“That it’s...regular.  And it means nothing.  But he might’ve been trying to get rid of me since he and Alistair were in the middle of fucking.  Do you reckon he cries after sex?  I bet he does.”

She spoke fast, trying to hide her embarrassment over asking in the first place and talking about it to Ian even though she was the one who brought it up.

“Alistair?” He stroked his chin and then shook his head. “No.  I bet he just goes to sleep, though.  And don’t change the subject.”

Cassan pouted.

“Look, I haven’t any many friends before you all.”

He stared at her.

“Okay, any friends.  And I had this shitty confession with Maeve so I figure you deserve it too.  But basically this is new to me.  Before the only person I spoke to regularly was my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

She waved a hand, irritated.

“Yeah.  Castor.  We’re twins.”

“Your twin’s name is Cas _tor_?  Seriously?  Who thought of that?”

“Ian--focus!”

He grinned and folded his arms over his chest.

“You called me ‘Ian.’  Awwww…”

She fired a low-energy spirit bolt at his arm.  With surprisingly quick reflexes, he dodged it and the purple energy dissipated against the stone wall.

“I’m trying to say that this is new to me and I’m glad we’re friends, asshole!”

Ian put a hand over his heart and came to the bed.  He wrapped his big, beefy arms around her and pulled her into a bear hug.

“Aw, I love you too, Cass.”

“Yeah, we went over that part already,” she said in a clenched voice. “And you are crushing me.”

He responded by falling down on the bed, pinning her between his body and the mattress.

“You prick!” Cassan bleated out but her voice lacked any heat.

She wriggled under him, trying to dislodge her hands so she could attempt to tickle him.  Before she got the chance, Ian relented and rolled off of her.  Cassan turned and tucked herself against him.

“You alright, hamhead?” she asked.

They hadn’t talked about what happened at the Arl’s estate.  There had been a flurry of going to Fort Drakon and then the Alienage and she hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to him.  He had looked...different coming back and not just because he was covered head to toe in Howe’s blood.  There was something blank and bleary in his eyes.

“Don’t know,” he said.

She stroked his shoulder a bit in comfort.  Part of her still thought it was weird, how she could be so affectionate with him.  He was a guy, he was a human, and yet she felt something really strongly for him.  It was different from Morrigan or that one girl from the Tower but it was powerful.  She sort of got it now but it was still confusing.

“I thought…” He twisted his mouth again. “I don’t know.  I’m glad he’s dead, I’m glad I did it but...nothing’s changed.  My family’s dead, my home is empty...I’m alone.  I’m alone and the one thing that I wanted is done.  Howe’s dead and anyone who goes to the dungeon will know I did it.”

“How come?”

“I painted my family’s crest on the wall in his blood.”

“Ah.”

Ian rolled onto his back and stared up at the blank stone ceiling above their heads.

“I’m...empty.”

He sounded different and she realized that it was because he wasn’t putting anything on.  He wasn’t being sarcastic or sexual or joking.  He was just talking and there was a sadness to his voice.

“You’ve still got…us,” she tried. “And we still have a Blight to end so don’t crap out on us now, Cousland.”

He turned his head to look at her and gave a brazen grin.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She didn’t know if her words helped at all but a bit of that sad, distant look was gone.  She noticed this because shortly after he spoke, Ian tackled her down onto the bed again.

\--

Anora pulled the pins that held her braids tightly coiled and let them unfurl to thump against her shoulders.  Delicately, she began undoing the plaits, hating the way her hair was only wavy in the braids and flat as a pin on top.  She’d never liked her hair.  As a child, she had told Cailan he was jealous of his.  It was so silky and smooth and she had always encouraged him to keep it long.  She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.  The pain was more direct now that she knew for a fact that it was her father that caused his death.  Cailan...poor idealistic Cailan.  He was far from perfect and she would never pretend that he was but she had loved him.

She took in a deep breath, determined not to cry.  It had been months now and this revelation could not make her to fall to pieces.  She was Ferelden’s rightful ruler, after all.

A knock came at her door.  Erlina rose to answer it and Anora didn’t bother to turn from her vanity.

“Oh, Serrah Tabris!  It is so good to see you.”

Anora half-turned to see Erlina smoothing her hair and brushing invisible lint off of her dress.  Her pale cheeks were stained pink and she was smiling broadly.  She turned and allowed the guest into Anora’s chambers.  Anora recognized him as one of the elves that liberated her from the estate.  She hadn’t caught his family name before.  Without his armor, he looked rather small and slight--he probably wasn’t even twenty--but he had a determined set to his mouth.  Erlina seemed to find him agreeable as she was positively beside herself that he had come calling.

“I never got to thank you for your help,” she said with a smile. “I’m so glad for your safe return.”

He stared at her in confusion as if he had no idea why she was heaping praise on him.

“Uh...thanks.  Is the Queen available?”

Anora stood and adjusted her dressing gown as she did.

“She is.”

She walked over to where he was and extended a hand.  He looked at it for a moment before taking it.

“It was Devyn, correct?”

He nodded.

“Erlina, can you leave us for a moment?” she asked.

Her handmaiden nodded and bobbed a curtsy.  As she left, she stole one last look at Devyn’s backside.

“I think she’s smitten with you.”

“Huh?” He furrowed his brow. “She did realize that Theron was standing next to me at the estate, right?”

Anora chuckled a little.

“What brings you here?  I assume it has to do with the Landsmeet?”

He arched his brows and said, “You get right to business.”

“It’s the best way, I’ve found.”

“Alright then here it is: Alistair wants to be King.  I support this.  I will fight you in the Landsmeet if you fight me.”

Anora had not been expecting that.  Alistair had been so determined to not be King that she hadn’t thought he had a change of heart.

“Eamon’s influence?”

“Surprisingly not.  He saw the Alienage and wanted to be King to make things better for us there.”

That was...nauseatingly noble.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I have a deal for you, your majesty.”

Devyn walked around her and plopped himself down on a chair.  She would have been annoyed if this had actually been her chambers and not a guest room in the Arl’s estate.

“Here it is: you marry Alistair.”

She was so startled that she almost started laughing.

“Excuse me?”

“Marry Alistair,” he repeated.

Anora folded her arms and shook her head.

“Other than the fact that he looks nearly exactly like my dead husband, what makes you think this will work?  That either of us will agree to it?”

“Because it makes sense.  Ferelden gets a Theirin and a seasoned ruler.”

The plan actually made a bit of sense but something was not adding up.

“Have you spoken to him about it?”

“No.  But I will.  And if he says no, then it’s off.  Same if you do.”

That wasn’t just it.

“I...had heard about the two of you…”

He stood and instead put one foot back on the seat of the chair.  Anora was glad he wasn’t wearing boots.

“We are.  And this is why I’m doing it.  I don’t want Eamon exerting too much influence and I trust you not to have feelings for him.  I’ll be there, don’t worry.”

The way he said it...it actually made sense.  It was a good plan and she had a feeling that if she tried to make a bid for herself, she had a feeling he could be indomitably determined.

“So?” This time he extended his hand.

She stared at him.  Anora was no mage but she had a feeling that Fade tricks worked like this.  It felt like a deal with a demon--if demons had disheveled black hair and purple eyes--when she reached out and shook his hand.

\--

Alistair never realized how large the Arl’s estate was until he wanted to find Devyn and couldn’t.  He checked the library and the room they shared and even the kitchens, though the Arl had banned him from them after the cooks complained about his constant suggestions.  His quest for him was twofold.  One, it was getting late and he wanted to get to bed.  Two, he had to share with him the utter weirdness he had just experienced.  He had been talking to Riordan about the Grey Warden vault that was in the city and Anora had come by.  She had looked at him, almost appraisingly.  It wasn’t like someone sizing up their competition--which, as he was chagrinned to realize, was what they were.  It was the look of someone who was looking at a pig they were going to buy at market.  That wasn’t all, either.

He turned a corner in the hallway and finally spotted him.  Devyn was walking the other direction and his face lit up when he saw him.  Alistair’s own heart fluttered--would he always be this excited to see him?  He hoped so.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” he said, quickening his step to meet him.

“So have I,” Alistair said back.

Devyn met him and looped his arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.  He wrapped his arms around him, loving how he felt.  Devyn wasn’t as small or scrawny as the boy he met at Ostagar or even the first time they held each other in his tent.  He had become more muscled, stronger.  It was no longer as unbelievable that he was as strong as he was.

“You would not believe what I just heard,” he said as they parted.

“What?” Devyn drew himself close and wrapped the laces of Alistair’s shirt around his fingers.

“I was talking to Riordan and Anora came by and guess what she said.”

He stilled for a moment, tensed up in his arms.  Alistair frowned in confusion but kept talking.

“She said ‘it would be like marrying his twin.’  What does that even mean?”

Devyn drew in a deep breath and pulled away from him a little.

“It’s what I want to talk to you about.  See, I’ve got a plan.”

He looked down at him and his eyes were wide, mouth slightly parted.  To Alistair, he looked utterly kissable but his brow was slightly furrowed like he had something important to say and so he refrained.

“At the Landsmeet...you marry Anora.”

The world dropped out from under him.  That was not what he expected to hear.

“W-what?”

“No, no.  A political marriage.  I asked her and now I’m asking you and if either of you don’t want to then--grrp--gone.  It would make her less willing to fight us in the Landsmeet and you could have someone who’s ruled Ferelden for years to give you advice.”

He stared at him.  Devyn had clearly thought this through but something still bothered him.

“What...what about us?”

“I’ll be there, love.  You see, Anora has zero attraction to you because you look too much like her dead husband and it kind of freaks her out.  So she’s fine with me being there.”

He really had thought this through.  Alistair looked at him and saw what he was trying to do.  It was a good plan, really.  He didn’t want to marry Anora, though.

“But I want to marry _you,_ ” he said and then had to stop himself from clamping a hand over his mouth.

Devyn froze.  His eyes managed to go even wider and his mouth fell completely open.

“W-what?”

“What?” Alistair forced a laugh out. “Haha that was.  I mean…”

“Are you proposing?”

His face heated up and he fought the urge to fan it.

“Mmm...aaaybe…” he said and swallowed thickly.

They could never really get married.  The Chantry would explode before a Sister allowed a marriage between two men, particularly if one of them was an elf and even moreso if one of them was King.  Still, he wanted to spend his life with him.

“I...of course I want to marry you, too,” he said and Devyn’s face was as red as his probably was. “I...well, what if you and Anora are political ‘Chantry’ married and you and I are for real...secret married.  Like not...officially since no one would but like.  I would.  Want to call you my husband.”

He blushed furiously and Alistair pulled him close.

“Alright, that I can get behind.”

He leaned down and kissed him and Devyn kissed him back.  They stood there in the hallway for a moment, kissing gently and, if he dared say so, romantically.  Then he teased his mouth open with his tongue and slipped it in there.  Devyn opened his mouth to allow him to sink and the kiss got a lot less gentle.  They broke apart for a moment and Devyn wiped his mouth as he grinned.

“You are getting really good at Orlesian kissing,” he said.

“I really like it,” he said and was surprised that he didn’t feel the usual wave of embarrassment for saying so.

Devyn grinned and stood up on the balls of his feet to nibble on the slope of his neck.  Alistair shivered a bit.  He wasn’t sure why he liked that so much.  The feeling on his teeth marking his skin.  Just the other day, Arl Eamon had asked if he had some kind of rash on his neck and it was all he could do to stop from laughing.

He took Devyn into his arms and moved him towards the wall.  He held him against it, pushing him against the rough stone.

“Is this good?” he asked. “You aren’t feeling...closed in?”

He shook his head. “Nope.  I’m good.”

He was glad.  It was one thing to be spontaneous like that--something that was still new to him--but he didn’t want to make him uncomfortable with what was his greatest fear.  He leaned down and began sucking on his neck as he had seen Devyn do countless times now.  He found it...almost instinctive.  He knew where to bite and nibble and suck that got him wriggling under him in pleasure and bucking his hips against his.  The marks he left behind weren’t as bold as Devyn’s since Alistair lacked the slightly pointed canines that elves had.  His were...a little pointier than most--he bit his tongue enough as a child to know this--but they weren’t as pronounced.

Behind him, he heard someone clear their throat.  Embarrassment prickled the back of his neck now and he turned around to see Maeve.  She had that sisterly look on her face.

“You have a bedroom,” she said.

Alistair smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, Maeve.  We got...carried away.”

She squinted at them--well, more specifically at her cousin--and frowned.

“It’s fine…”

Devyn took his hand and led him to the bedroom.  He waved to her over his shoulder and Maeve sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Does she know about your plan?” he asked once they were safely ensconced in their chambers.

He shook his head.

“No.  No one does but you and Anora.  I’m keeping it that way.  The less people, the less...you know.  Now come on, no more talk about the Landsmeet or this alright?”

Alistair nodded and ducked down to kiss him.

“Alright.”

Devyn stroked his cheek and said, “Let’s go to bed...my husband.”

\--

Kierin couldn’t help but be annoyed by the earring in Theron’s ear.  Couldn’t he sweep his hair over his other shoulder so it wasn’t so visible?  The gold winking in the candlelight and the little jewels pressed into it, it was ugly.  No, it was beautiful.  It was probably expensive, too.  His mother had had earrings that had been a wedding gift from his father.  They were copper and turned her earlobes green but she wore them every day.  Kierin, as a small child, had always promised himself that if he loved anyone, he would give them earrings they’d wear every day, too.  Thus, it was darkly humorous that he finally realized his feelings for Theron only for him and Zevran to finally get together.  And, on top of that, for Zevran to give him an earring.

They were together now, tangled together on the bed.  It wasn’t even sexual.  Theron was toying with Zevran’s hair while the (pretty piss poor, in his opinion) assassin held him.  Kierin slumped in a chair that had been in the corner and fought back a scowl.

“What happens at a Landsmeet?” Theron asked. “Are there duels?  I want there to be duels.”

Zevran made a motion of drawing a sword.  He wiggled his eyebrows and Theron laughed.  Kierin’s stomach clenched at the sound of it.  It was a beautiful sound.  How had he never realized this?  How had never realized how much he had loved him before it was too late?  He could never tell him.  He didn’t want to put Theron in that position or ruin their friendship.  So he just sat in the chair, pining and feeling miserable.

“What are you pouting about, Kee?”

He looked up sharply to see Theron staring at him with an intense look.  Shit.  Sometimes he forgot how observant Theron could be.  He was usually so wrapped up in himself that Kierin forgot that he had keen hunter’s senses.  He had known the truth about him for years, even.

“The Landsmeet,” he said quickly. “I don’t know what it’s about either.”

“Noble pissing contest is my guess,” Zevran said.  He nuzzled Theron’s neck after he spoke and stroked his hand down his side.

Kierin bunched up in on himself.  He felt so left out, now.  He was on the outside, again.  He would always be one.  In the Clan, in the Wardens and now even with Theron.

“I’m going to sleep,” he said, lifting his head. “Zevran, are you staying?”

He raised his eyebrows--blond and so easy to miss against his brown skin--and smirked.

“Me?  In the bed you two share?  Only in my dreams.” He turned and drew his index finger down Theron’s jawline. “Until tomorrow, mi amor.”

He kissed him and, almost in unison, their eyes closed as they savored it.  A wave of jealousy passed through Kierin’s chest, making it tighten.  He tried to ignore it.  Zevran left shortly after.  Kierin crawled into bed next to Theron, the blood pounding in his ears.  This used to be easy before he realized his feelings.  He and Theron had shared sleeping space loads of times.  Now, it felt strange.  Theron flopped down next to him and reached a hand out to place against his forehead.

“What are you doing?” he asked, glad he sounded irritable and not nervous.

“Checking your head, Kee.  You’ve been acting strange and I was wondering if you were sick.” He smiled and added, “You do it enough to me.”

Kierin batted his hand away and rolled over.

“Good night, lethallin.”

“Good night!” he sing-songed back.

Theron doused the lanterns, making the low-burning hearth the only source of light left in the room.  Kierin balled up and tried to use the semi-darkness to pretend he was alone in the bed.

\--

Alistair awoke in the middle of the night to a rumbling in his stomach.  He scrunched his face up momentarily and started to rise from bed.  He figured Eamon wouldn’t mind if he made himself a sandwich or something.  He was careful to slide out of the bed since his lover was probably the lightest sleeper in all of Thedas.

“Mmm...Alistair?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed himself.  He had hoped that he could just let Devyn sleep.

“Ah, sorry.  I’m going to go to the kitchens for a midnight snack.” He put his hand over his stomach to emphasize his hunger.

Devyn blinked bleary eyes at him and yawned.

“I can make you something, love.”

As much as he would have liked that, he didn’t want to get him up.  It was hard enough for him to fall asleep as it was.  He leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“Go back to sleep, love.  I’ll only be a minute.”

Devyn nodded and laid back down on the pillows.  Alistair slipped quietly from the room, not wanting to wake him up again.  He made his way down to the kitchen as quietly as he could.  It wasn’t terrible silent since Alistair was well aware of the fact that he was not the sneakiest person.

The kitchens were empty save for one person and, to Alistair’s surprise, it wasn’t Theron or Ian.  Morrigan of all people sat by herself, eating a loaf of bread.

“Oh…” he said. “Hello.”

Morrigan looked up and scowled at him--a remarkable feat with a mouth full of bread.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’m hungry,” he replied, deciding to omit any indication that the reason he was in the kitchens would be obvious.

“As am I.”

Alistair weighed the hunger he felt against having to save time with Morrigan.  He sighed and began poking around the kitchen for something to eat.  He took a block of cheese from the cutting board and brought it to the counter next to Morrigan.  Naturally the only available stool was next to her.  She inched away from him as he sat.

“I didn’t think you were someone to get a midnight snack,” he said.

“I am not usually.”

“Oh...nice.”

Alistair bit down into his cheese, realizing that he probably should have cut it into slices.  They ate in silence for a while until Morrigan broke it.

“Alistair...are you attracted to women?”

He choked and struggled to swallow.

“What?”

“Well, back in Lothering, you expressed confusion at relations between men.  Now you are in a committed relationship with one, yes?”

“Uh...yeah?”

Morrigan picked at the loaf of bread she held and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

“So?”

Alistair bit into his cheese again and shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I mean, I am interested in women.  Why?”

“And men other than Devyn?”

He was confused at her sudden interest but Morrigan wasn’t insulting him so he decided to take what he could.

“Yes.  I mean, thinking about it...there are men I find attractive.  Theron...Ian’s good-looking.”

He didn’t feel it necessary to mention anyone else.  Alistair hadn’t put a lot of thought into it other than the two boys he had found kissing in the Chantry so long ago.  There had been another boy, though.  He had mostly forgotten about him but he had been a recruit with him.  Where Alistair had been disheveled and disruptive, he was buttoned-up and disciplined.  He had made sure Alistair was mostly presentable for inspections and reminded him of parts of the Chant he forgot.  Unlike him, he had been given knighthood and sent off to a Circle.  He didn’t realize that until recently that he had probably fancied him.  And then Duncan.  He had been madly in love with Duncan and, again, hadn’t realized it.  Not that he really spent much time thinking of other men.  He had moments of introspection--they fluttered by on occasion--but he knew that no matter who else there was, there was one person now.

“So you would sleep with a woman should it arise?”

“Uh...well, no.  Committed relationship.  But maybe before, if I found the right person?” He winced and bit into his cheese again. “So...I heard Cassan gave you a mirror?”

Morrigan nibbled on the rind of her bread.

“Yes.  I had not told her but it reminded me of one I had as a child.  I was...surprisingly touched.”

Alistair coughed into the cheese.  She really didn’t know that Cassan fancied her, did she?  And people said he was clueless.

“Right.  Uh…” He went to take a bite of cheese and found only air. “I guess I’m done with my cheese so...I’ll leave you to your bread.  Uh.  Good night?”

Morrigan gave him a steely look and, yes, that was more comforting.  He got up and exited the kitchen, feeling out of sorts.  Why in the Maker’s name had she asked him all of that?

\--

Alistair had had no idea that the Grey Wardens kept a vault in Denerim.  Yet here he and Devyn were, rooting through crates.  He had the code from Riordan and Devyn had volunteered to go.  Alistair’s reasoning was twofold.  They all needed some sort of armor for the Landsmeet that afternoon and he wanted to see if anything in here would have belonged to Duncan.

“What’s wrong with the armor I have?”

“Your splintmail?  It smells.”

Devyn wrinkled his nose and waved his hand in front of it.  Alistair responded by juvenilely sticking his tongue out.

“It’s also getting too small,” he continued.  Devyn illustrated this by poking at the leather and how it strained over his shoulder.

Alistair blushed.  He only occasionally realized how big he was.  When he was with Devyn, he saw it but Devyn was also stronger than him--and not as tiny as he used to be.  It was hard to remember his size, though, once Ian joined up with him since he tended to make everyone look small.

“Is it wise to do me up in Grey Warden armor, though?” he asked, taking a helmet off of an armor stand. “I mean...isn’t that partially why people wouldn’t want me on the Throne?”

Devyn twisted his mouth and nodded.

“Yeah but Maeve wants us to match.” He picked through some of the armor that was before them and sighed. “None of this is going to fit me.”

He opened another crate and saw that this one was full of weapons rather than armor.  He reached down and pulled out a shield.  Alistair looked at it, wondering if he could use it.  The metal shield--one of Theron’s grabs off of a corpse--he had been using was in pretty bad shape.  He turned it over and noticed an inscription.

"I think this is Duncan's shield." Devyn popped his head out of the box he had been examining and held the shield up in one hand.

Alistair almost dropped the helmet and turned to look.  It was a grand shield, silver and painted blue with the heraldry of a reared griffon.  Duncan never used a shield in the time he had known him but Wardens got them upon their Joining--at least usually.  Alistair had but the desperation for recruits meant that none of the others had.  He couldn't remember where his had gone.  He had been so proud of it--a real, true shield--that he just kept it hidden.  It was probably still at Ostagar, rusted and covered in Darkspawn droppings.

"How can you tell?"

Devyn turned the shield over and read what was apparently an inscription. "Duncan.  9:09 Dragon.  It also says 'in war, victory, in peace, blah-blah fuck you Genevieve.'  Who's Genevieve?"

Alistair shrugged.  Devyn handed it to him.

“Here.  You should have it.” He tilted his head to the side and smiled.

With hands that were suddenly shaking, he took the shield from him.  Protectively, he clutched it to his chest.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, love.”

Alistair ran his hand over the edge of the shield, brushed his fingers against the inscription.  This was Duncan’s shield.  Even if it randomly and confusingly said “fuck you, Genevieve” this was Duncan’s.  He looked over the shield at Devyn’s smiling face.  He always looked so good when he smiled.  It seemed to happen more now--at least he was smiling more than he was snarling and pounding his fist into his open palm--and he liked to think he had something to do with it.  He was certainly why he was smiling more.  He leaned down to kiss him and Devyn reached up to cup his face.  The shield was between them and it made kissing awkward but he didn’t mind.  They broke apart and Alistair’s face was hot.

“I…” he said.

“We can’t get it on in a Grey Warden vault,” he said teasingly.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said and his face grew even hotter.

Devyn just grinned and went to the crates.

“Come on--we still have armor to find.”

\--

Part of him felt bad for sending Alistair back to the Arl’s estate with an armful of armor and tunics in the vain hope that someone could make armor to fit them.  Apparently none of the Grey Wardens that kept their armor in that vault were elves.  Theron and Kierin could maybe get away with it since they were tall enough to be average size for humans but the rest of them would have issue.  Still, he felt bad putting it all on Alistair but he had something he wanted to do.

It was easy to find the building even though he had only been there once.  He knocked even though the sign said to come in.  He pushed it open after knocking and the whole place smelled like soap and was muggy.

“Um...hello?” he called.

The woman stepped out, wiping her hands on her apron.  They left wet marks and some dripped down the undyed cotton.

“Hello.  What can I--oh, it’s you.”

Goldanna glowered at him.  Devyn tried to put a smile on and her scowl deepened.

“Yeah.  Uh...I guess last time we didn’t really end things well what with you insulting my lover and hurling racial slurs at me.”

Her lips twitched a little when he called Alistair his lover but she didn’t say anything.  He was off to a bad start.

“Listen.  I wanted to apologize,” he said, holding up his hands, “for the last time we were here.  I yelled at you and...that wasn’t fair.”

She looked at him, eyebrows arched in surprise.

“You were mad last time.”

“That happens a lot.” He let out an awkward chuckle.  Alistair was rubbing off on him, a little. “I have a bad temper.  Anyway...what you said wasn’t nice but...I remember what it’s like.  My father had to raise me and my cousins by himself so coin was always tight.  And if who I thought was the reason why we had to live like this came in and tried to force a bond...I would be pretty pissed.”

Goldanna looked at him and her scowl softened.

“You’re from the Alienage, aintcha?”

He nodded.  To his surprise--especially considering what she said last time--she smiled.

“Life probably shat on you even more than it did me.”

He nodded a little.  He didn’t really want to talk about it much or compare life stories.  He had something he wanted to do.

“Yeah, so.  Here.” He reached into the pouch at his waist and removed a smaller bag. “It’s only five sovereigns but...thought it’d help.”

Goldanna took the bag from him quickly.

“Thank you.” She held it in both hands and then looked up at him. “Sorry--for calling you a knife-ear.  I’m...not ready to see the other one but.  Thank you.”

“Yeah.  Um.  So.  Bye.”

Devyn awkwardly waved--yes, Alistair rubbing off on him--and exited.  He didn’t know why he had come there other than wanting to make up for losing his temper.  He would have reacted the same way if someone had strolled in.  He was feeling protective and he had a bad temper and that led to a terrible combination.  He still had to work on that but this was a good start.  Plus, if he could talk to Goldanna, he could maybe keep his cool during the Landsmeet.  If he--an eighteen-year-old kid from the Alienage--was going to convince the Bannorn to put Alistair on the throne, he was going to have to rein it in.

\--

Cassan stared, unable to believe her eyes.  She liked to think that it took a lot of surprise her.  Usually revelations just slightly irked her but she was genuinely surprised.

“What?” Theron asked, daring to sound innocent.

She reached out and lifted the Grey Warden mage’s tunic.  When Alistair had brought them in earlier that day, the tunic had fallen past her knees.  Now it looked like it was not only the right length but that it fit her.

“You tailored everything?” she asked.

Theron nodded and flipped his hair.

“Of course.  Not the armor--I can’t change metal--but I got the tunics right.  And I fixed the leggings on mine so they can let me go barefoot.” He held up one of the tunics and she saw a scrap of cloth that would ostensibly wrap around the arch of his foot.

“How do you know how to do this?” she asked.  Theron never seemed to show interest in anything other than his own looks.  That wasn’t entirely true but she didn’t know that he was apparently hiding an expert tailor under his hair flips and pouting lips.

“I mend all my own things,” he said and gestured to the tunic he was wearing. “Do you think everything fits me this well when I put it on?  I’m perfect but I’m not that perfect.”

He grinned and Cassan elbowed him in the side good-naturedly.

“Anyway, I think Kierin and Maeve can get away with the armor but Devyn’s just going to have to make do with the kind I’m wearing.  At least his axe is intimidating.”

Cassan took the blue, silver-threaded material in her hand and sighed.

“You think this is a good idea?  It’s so...Wardens.”

Theron shrugged. “Maeve said it so we’re doing it.  So which bow?”

Cassan pointed to one of the array he had apparently amassed during their travels.  The Dalish was such a damn packrat.

“The Ironbark one,” she said. “The silver matches.”

Theron nodded his agreement and shouldered it.

“You want one to give to Ian?” he asked.

“Cram it, Mahariel.”

The door opened as she was trying to stuff her staff down his throat to drown out his laughter and both of them turned to see Maeve.  She looked weary as if a great weight was on her shoulders.  Maybe it was.  She had seemed very stressed and exhausted when Cassan spoke to her in the library.  In fact, their entire time in Denerim, she had been quiet and tense.  It probably had nothing to do with the Landsmeet and more to do with the Blight.  Cassan’s nightmares were getting worse and she imagined the others were feeling it as well.  With nightmares plus the burdens of command, Maeve was feeling it.

“Get dressed,” she said, “We’re leaving.”

\--

Devyn felt bad for Ser Cauthrien.  She was obviously a conflicted woman.  There was a definite look of resignation as she let them pass.  At least, he thought, she agreed Loghain was out of control.  Ian had bid them farewell--he was even wearing sleeves.  Apparently Theron had made him a shirt out of cotton that was able to bend with his arms.

The chamber where it was to be held was huge.  Devyn stared up at the vaulted ceilings and tried not to gape.  Nobles were packed in the gallery.  Some wore silk finery in their family’s colors but others wore armor.  He vaguely recognized the father of the noble they saved and the women who they had given that Templar’s ring.  He tugged at the end of the brown gloves he wore.  In his Grey Warden tunic, he felt like a little kid playing pretend.  He wished he could have fit in the armor that Alistair and Kierin were wearing.  He was a warrior too, damn it.  He was that skinny, underfed scrap of an elf anymore but he was still pretty slender.  Thus, he walked with more purpose and instead of having it strapped across his back, he held his axe over his shoulders.  He couldn’t intimidate with shining, silverite armor but the axe spoke volumes.  He shouldered it once they reached the apparent pulpit--the throne.  Loghain paced, gesticulating wildly as he spoke.  His eyes were wide and spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.  He was really at the end of his rope.

“And who will pull the strings on this would be king?  Ah, here comes the puppetmasters now,” he concluded his rant by casting a steely, wild-eyed glare in their direction.

“Puppetmasters?” Devy muttered under his breath. “The only thing I pull on Alistair isn’t a string.”

Theron seemed to hear what he said and grinned.

“The Grey Wardens--”

“Are supposed to be dead.” Maeve stepped forward, her arms folded over her chest. “Right?  They were all supposed to die at Ostagar.  Along with the King you abandoned.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd as she spoke.  Devyn couldn’t help but smile.  There was no one he knew who was better at tearing apart arguments than Maeve.  She was the only one who could cut through his and Shianni’s wild stories and excuses about where they were.

“Cailan’s plan was a suicide mission.  I provided a tactical retreat--”

“That doomed everyone else!” Alistair cried. “You let D--the Wardens die!  You let the King die!  You then let the Darkspawn run rampant over Ferelden as you played tug-o-war with the throne!”

The murmurs grew louder but no more distinct.  Alistair was mad.  His jaw was set and his fists were balled.  Devyn knew all eyes were on them or else he would stroke his arm or rub his back.

“There are rumors,” a Bann from up above said, “about what truly happened at Ostagar, Teryn.”

Hearing that title and not his appointed one of Regent seemed to rankle him.  Loghain’s left eye twitched.

“Ostagar was a tragedy,” he said through clenched teeth. “However--”

“However,” Maeve said, her tone far more poised and steady than Alistair’s had been. “You haven’t stopped there.  You allowed Arl Howe to torture dissenters in his dungeons.”

The same Bann from before spoke.

“Yes!  You should have seen my boy’s legs when the Wardens brought him back to me!”

Loghain swallowed thickly and glowered.

“Arl Howe was responsible for his own actions.”

“Actions you allowed!”

This cry didn’t come from the gallery but from the court.  Ian stood, his eyes sparking fire.  His usual smirk or smile was gone and he looked like he had in the Arl’s dungeons when he had killed Howe.

“You promised Howe power in exchange for murdering the Couslands,” he snapped. “And then tried to frame us for treason.  You allowed Howe to carry on like this with no repercussions!  His actions are your actions.”

A murmur of agreement rose up among the gathered nobles.  Devyn spotted Eamon staring down at them from the gallery.  He looked pleased.  He wondered how long that look would last.  Loghain glared at Ian.

“Lord Cousland,” he said, drawing out the ‘o’ in his title, “and where have you been?  Aiding these Wardens, yes?  Should we listen to someone who is in their pocket?”

“Why not?” Ian countered.  He walked forward to address the court. “My family has always supported the crown, supported Ferelden.  Would it not seem obvious for me to side with those who are intent of preserving, of saving my country as opposed to someone who seems void-bent on destroying it?”

The nobles glanced at one another, nodding.  Devyn was impressed.  Ian sounded like proper nobility and not the way he was with them.  He was unlike any other noble he’d met but apparently they all got at least a little of the same teaching in their fancy homes.

“The Wardens are causing this divide,” he argued, voice hitting a pitch. “They have even turned the Queen.”

“And how could they not, father?”

Anora stepped from the wings, her hands folded in front of her.  She was dressed in the royal colors of purple and gold and her hair was neatly braided.  She strode forward to the pulpit to address the nobles.

“My father is a good man--a good general--but he does not have Ferelden’s best interests at heart anymore,” she said, lowering her head. “He allowed me to be captured by Arl Howe for disagreeing with him.  He...has never been suited for politics.  He has led our country to a civil war that has allowed the Blight to spread, unhindered except by the actions of these Grey Wardens.”

She turned to look at Loghain, a look of sadness on her face.

“I’m sorry, father,” she said, shaking her head.

Devyn drew in a deep breath and stepped forward.  Maeve saw him and furrowed her brow.

“I feel like at this point you’ve decided but Loghain allowed for slavery in the Alienage--my home.  We have evidence and, as you all know, that’s kind of sort of illegal.”

Maeve’s forehead smoothed back out and she nodded.  He had a feeling that she wouldn’t be so calm after the decision was made.  He hadn’t told any of the others about his plan.

“Loghain,” Eamon said.  He leaned over the bannister of the gallery, staring directly into Loghain’s eyes. “I believe it is obvious that you have lost.”

Loghain tried to save face but the nobles were all glaring at him and it was clear to see that he would not keep the throne.

“The rules of the Landsmeet,” a bann said, “now demand a duel to fully decide the winner.”

“Yes!” Theron exclaimed, thrusting both arms into the air. “There are duels!”

“Lethallin, shh!”

The bann seemed to recover from the interjection and continued.

“The Teryn will face a champion from the Wardens side to fight until death or until the other yields.”

Devyn looked around, waiting for Maeve to step forward.

“I’m doing it.” Alistair raised his hand.  He had a determined look on that, under normal circumstances, would have been quite enticing.

Loghain, and he had to give him credit for this, smirked.

“Yes.  Let’s see how our would-be king fights.”

Whatever nobles were assembled in the stone court moved towards the wings, making room.  Loghain stepped out, his hand at the hilt of his sword.  Alistair squinted his eyes and eased Duncan’s shield onto his arm.  Devyn reached out and discretely squeezed his hand.

“Good luck.”

Alistair smiled and squeezed back.  He turned and focused on Loghain, his smile gone and his jaw set.

“This is a duel to the death?” Theron asked, apparently giddy.

“Or to surrender,” Maeve said.

Cassan folded her arms and said, “Alistair looks like he has a lot of pent up rage at Loghain--I bet it’ll be death.”

“Is Alistair capable of killing a man in cold blood?” Kierin asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Is Loghain?” Theron asked back.

Devyn frowned.  He was suddenly nervous.  Not just for Alistair falling victim to Loghain but for how far he’d go.  If he killed him, it might put a damper on his plan.

“Kick his ass, Alistair!” Theron shouted, earning him some looks from the gathered nobles.  More quietly he said, “Elgar’nan’s filthy asshole, he’s going to get his shemlen ass killed.”

Kierin flicked his arm and said, “Don’t speak of the All-father like that.”

Devyn gave both of them dirty looks.  In front of them, Alistair and Loghain began circling one another.  Up above, Eamon raised a hand to signal the beginning of the duel.  Alistair lunged, slamming into Loghain’s dinged armor with his shield.  He seemed unwilling or unable to stop, and Loghain barely had time to parry his blows.  Devyn put a gloved hand to his mouth.  He had never seen Alistair like this, so angry.  He hadn’t picked up on how angry he was at Loghain.  He knew he was mad but this extent was almost scary.  It was like Ian when he kept stabbing Howe in the dungeons.

“Alright, be honest, is this turning you on?” Theron asked, whispering in his ear.

Devyn elbowed him and he giggled breathily.  He was glad that Theron was back to normal after being down for so long, truly, but he was being kind of obnoxious.

“A little,” he admitted after a moment, “but mostly I’m worried.  He’s never been like this.”

Both Alistair and Loghain were letting out those dog bark Fereldan war cries as they fought as opposed to grunts of exertion or taunts.  Alistair turned and hit Loghain in the face with his shield.  The Teryn stumbled back, breathing heavily.  Looking up, he put a smile on his face.

“So there is a little Maric in you after all.”

Alistair’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

“Forget Maric!” he snarled. “This is for Duncan!”

He lunged forward and brought his sword across Loghain’s midsection.  It managed to get in a groove joint of his armor and blood poured out.  Loghain dropped to his knees.  He somehow managed to look even paler--honestly, Devyn thought darkly, he had more color to his skin--and he dropped to the floor.

“No!” Anora put her hands over her face as she screamed.

Alistair stood over him, breathing heavily.  Loghain bled out on the floor, that famous armor of his dented and stained.  It was, Devyn thought, a rather sad ending for the Hero of River Dane.  Not that Loghain didn’t deserve it.  With shaking hands, Alistair sheathed his sword.

“I killed him,” he said, voice hollow. “I killed him.”

Devyn fought the urge to run up to him and wrap his arms around him.  They were all still being watched.  Eamon had come down from the gallery during the duel and stepped forward.

“The Landsmeet has concluded,” he announced, “Alistair is King.”

“What?” Alistair asked, still sounding hollow.

“What?” Anora echoed indignantly.

Devyn stepped in front of him.

“Eamon, please,” he said and held his hand up close to his face. “Allow me.”

Eamon furrowed his brow in confusion.

“What?”

Devyn ignored him and began speaking as loud as he could so the nobles could hear.

“What is going to happen is that Alistair is to be wed to--”

“No,” Anora interjected.

He choked on the last word and spun on her.

“What?” It was apparently his turn to be confused.

“I refuse to marry the man who killed my father,” she said.

Devyn’s stomach lurched.  He was afraid of that.

“We had a deal,” he hissed, drawing close.

“The deal’s off,” she said, sniffing indignantly.

He took in a deep breath, trying not to lose his temper.  He had to think and he had to think fast.  Turning back to the assembly, he started speaking again.

“Alistair will rule Ferelden as its King.  Anora will be stripped of her royal rites--however, she is now the heir to her father’s land and will become the Teryna of Gwaren.  She will also stay on after the Blight to aid in advising the throne.”

He turned to her and narrowed his eyes.

“Does that work for you?”

She considered for a moment before lifting her hand in ascent.

“Yes it does.”

He exhaled and tried to ignore the look of disdain Eamon was giving him.  He knew that the Arl wasn’t going to say anything since this was more or less the outcome he had desired.  His fellow Wardens--particularly Maeve--all stared at him in shock.  He smiled awkwardly.  Alistair walked forward, stiff-legged like he was still in shock.  He came up beside Devyn and he took the opportunity to squeeze his hand again.  He relaxed a measure and when he spoke, he sounded more like himself.

“Right!  Uh, a speech, right?” He smiled self-consciously before continuing. “I never met my father but I feel like King Maric would say that we all need to work together to end the Blight.  The Darkspawn are at our door and we need to beat them back.  We can only begin to mend Ferelden once this threat is defeated!”

The nobles assembled cheered.

“I am now your King.” Bolstered by their approval, Alistair sounded more confident as he spoke. “But I am also a Grey Warden.  I can only take the full responsibility as King once my duties as a Warden are fulfilled.  The coronation will wait for after the Archdemon is dead.”

Another cheer.  A lone figure strode forward, clad similarly to how he and Theron were.  Devyn almost didn’t recognize Riordan.  He hadn’t seen him since the Arl’s dungeon.  He looked healthier, less sallow.  He also had bathed.

“Yes.  We must act now,” he said, inclining his head.  With a wry smile, he added, “Your majesty.”

\--

Everything seemed to be happening so fast.  He killed Loghain, he became King.  Now he was leaving for Redcliffe.  Riordan had “listened in” and found out that that was where the Darkspawn were heading.  Alistair tossed his belongings into his pack, trying not to forget anything.

“You were amazing.” He smiled when he heard the raspy crackle from the doorway.

“I was terrified,” he admitted.

He heard Devyn walked forward and felt his arms snake up under Alistair’s to stroke his chest.

“You’ve come so far,” he said.

“We all have.”

Devyn rose up on his tiptoes to rest his head on his shoulder.

“We have, haven’t we?” He turned his head and kissed his cheek. “Now come on.  Let’s go save the world.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

He could feel it creeping into his mind.  Digging like worms.  He turned over on his stomach as he tried to get to sleep.  He felt it like the edge of a nightmare.  Wings closing around him.

Theron jerked awake with a gasp.  He turned over and got himself into a seated position.  Pulling his knees to his chest, he grasped them tightly.  He could hear his heart thud against his thighs.  Next to him, Kierin slept on blissfully unaware.  His brow was slightly furrowed but, then again, Kierin always slept with a scowl on his face.  Theron wondered if he should wake him up.  He shook his head--let him sleep.  They were leaving for Redcliffe in the morning anyhow.  Riordan said that the Darkspawn were centering there.  Theron wasn’t big on going back to Redcliffe nor did he want to face a large amount of Darkspawn.  He was afraid of breaking down again.

Theron got out of bed and left the room.  He padded down the hall.  Part of him still felt in a dream.  Zevran was in the room by himself.  When Theron opened the door, he looked up from where he was sitting and smiled a knowing smile like he knew he would come.  The smile faltered a moment when his eyes landed on Theron’s face and he wondered how he had to look.  Drained of color, scared, on the verge of tears.  Why could he never remember his dreams?

Zevran held his arms out and he went to them, falling into the embrace.

“Where’s Oghren?”

“Passed out in the dining hall, I imagine.”

“Good.”

He lifted his face and Zevran kissed him.  It was a tender kiss, one they wouldn’t have chanced before.  Theron put his arms around him and deepened it.  Zevran gathered him up in his arms and brought him to the bed.  He forgot that the assassin was rather strong for being a good few inches shorter than him.

“Nothing more tonight, mi amor,” he whispered. “You need your rest.”

Theron pouted but part of him was grateful.  He was too wrung-out and exhausted for sex.  He got in bed and Zevran put his arms around him.

“Tell me about your dreams,” he whispered.

Theron put his hands over his eyes for a moment and sighed.

“I never remember them.  I think they’re Warden dreams--darkspawn dreams.  But I feel someone whispering to me but I can never remember what they say.  And something trying to grab me, like...a spider.”

Zevran stroked his shoulder and pressed a kiss to it.

“Do these come often?”

“Since my Joining.”

The others, he knew, had begun dreaming of the Archdemon--save for Devyn who said his dreams had been growing less frequent.  Theron didn’t know if that made him better or worse off that he had less sensitivity than the rest of them.

“Amor…”

He relaxed in his arms and rested against him.  Zevran settled his chin on Theron’s shoulder and drew him close to him.  He knew that Kierin would probably freak out when he woke up and saw him gone but he didn’t care that moment.  He had comfort and, he felt, someone to protect him from the dreams.

\--

Ian had been to Redcliffe as a child.  He had been small, peeking out from behind his mother’s skirts.  It had been colder than home and browner.  His father had ale with Arl Eamon while Ian sat in the nursery, bored out of his mind.  This trip was already substantially more exciting.  Darkspawn had taken upon the village.  According to Teagan, the villagers had been evacuated into the castle.  He liked Teagan.

He took a step back and let loose another arrow.  A Hurlock let out a sickening cry and fell to the ground.  That he wasn’t quite used to.  He hadn’t encountered Darkspawn since Honnleath.  Seeing so many after so long was disconcerting.  He had no time to waver, though.  He, Leliana, and Theron had to keep them off of the others.  He spotted her a little way off.  She hid partway behind the windmill, firing arrows between its spinning blades.  Leliana hadn’t spoken to him since she spent the night in his tent.  Not that Ian really minded.  He was used to people sleeping with him and then leaving.  He provided a distraction, which was what she had asked for.  Still, a part of him felt bad.  It had nothing to do with her reasons but Ian always prided himself on being memorable and not talking about a sexual encounter after it happened fell under being forgettable.  He had always craved attention.

To his right Theron had taken point--someone else who had barely spoken to him since their night together.  He had a slight tremor to his hands as he shot, which was compromising his aim.  He couldn’t blame him.  Everyone had heard about what happened the last time they had come to Redcliffe.

“You alright?” Ian asked.

“Yes.  Fine.”

He wasn’t and Ian could tell.  He reached back in his quiver and his fingers grabbed air.

“Well I’m not,” he said with a laugh. “I’m out of arrows.”

Theron smiled one of those shaky smiles one gave when they were scared or anxious.

“Good job.” He pointed down to the clearing below them. “Better go get some.”

Ian made a face at him and Theron smiled in response.

“Cover me.”

Theron turned his hand out and Ian dashed down the hill towards the thick of battle.  He shouldered his bow.  He could grab arrows but actually using them close range wouldn’t work.  He drew his knives and dove in.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had used his knives--well, he could but he preferred not to--in combat.  He wasn’t used to being so close, not seeing the whole battlefield.  Still, he had no other choice.  He had no other choice and he had to get his mind off of what happened in the dungeon.  He had been listless, unfettered, since it happened.  He had no other goal to strive towards.  Cassan told him to concentrate on the Blight but it was proving difficult.

He took a step back and his back hit someone else’s.  He didn’t smell decay nor did he hear the hissing, spittle-filled sound that Darkspawn made so he figured it was a person.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“No problem, Alistair.”

The thump of hitting someone seemed to at least center Ian’s thoughts into concentrating on the battle at least.  He kept his back against Alistair’s as they fought off Darkspawn together.

“Hey!”

A cry from nearby made Ian turn his head.  An armored hurlock ran by holding an axe with an ornate silverite blade and a long blue handle.  It looked a little familiar.

“Get back here, you fucking--” Devyn ran past them next, something dark in his hand.  The way he was pumping his arms made whatever the item was a complete blur.

Ian stilled and watched as he caught up to the hurlock and proceeded to beat him with whatever the item was.  He felt Alistair watching as well.  The hurlock fell and Devyn bent down to pick his axe back up.  He kicked its corpse and stomped off.

“And you made me ruin my frying pan, arse.”

“That’s my husband,” Alistair said with a happy sigh.

“Husband?”

“Uh…”

Ian grinned. “Say no more.”

He broke away and dove back into the fray.  Alistair and Devyn apparently considered themselves married now.  Eamon was going to shit himself.  Maybe he couldn’t yet concentrate on the Blight but he could concentrate on that little fact for a few moment’s time.

\--

Riordan saw their faces when he spoke the news.  He still didn’t know all of their names, these Wardens, but he felt like their reactions could help him judge their personalities and what kind of Wardens they would be.

“Denerim?” the Dalish elf--the one who helped liberate him from the Arl’s dungeon--balked. “We just came from that shit-hole!”

“My family’s there!” His other liberator, the city boy.  His face was a storm of emotion, impossible to hide.

Their leader put a comforting hand on his shoulder.  Riordan knew her name: Maeve.  She would make a fine Warden.  He could see shades of Duncan in her.  All of them, he thought, could make fine Wardens.  They were rough around the edges, yes, but they had assembled an impressive army that had the Archdemon frightened into showing itself in under a year.

“We’ll leave first thing,” Alistair, the newly crowned King, said as he gently placed a hand at the small of his back.

Yes, there was no chance for them to leave now.  With the Wardens newly arrived, they would not survive the ride and battle to Denerim to face the Archdemon.

“We’ll start a forced march at dawn,” Eamon promised.

His words seemed to calm him but, to Riordan, he saw that the steadying hand of Alistair was probably doing more.  His own heart lurched subconsciously.  He drew in a shaky breath.  He could worry about that later.  There were more matters he had to discuss.

“What happens when we get to Denerim?” their mage asked. “I mean, what happens with the Archdemon?”

Riordan looked at her face schooled into a slight scowl.  He glanced at the others and saw that they all wore expressions of curiosity.  Duncan, he realized, had never told them how the Archdemon was slain.  He saw Eamon present and sighed.  The Arl had been very instrumental but he was not a Warden.

“Later,” he said and shifted his gaze away. “Meet me upstairs later.  I have business to attend to.”

He had more to do than just get the Arl out of the room.  It was a reminder of someone back in Orlais.  Wardens were not meant to come together but when they were the only people you saw, it was inevitable.  Riordan tipped his head down and exited.  He ascended the steps and entered his chambers at the end of the darkened hall.  There was a roll of parchment and a quill on the desk, ready.  Riordan sat down and began composing a letter to Camille.  He knew what had to be done and knew that he would more than likely not see his lover again.  He only hoped that he was the only one.

\--

Alistair didn’t know why Riordan called them away for the others.  Ostensibly he knew it was for some kind of Warden thing.  He seemed to know a lot about Warden things.  In the turmoil of the Landsmeet, he hadn’t had much time to think about the Blight and now there it was.  The Archdemon was descending upon Denerim.  This was it.

Riordan allowed them into his chambers and shut the door behind them.  He had arrived earlier but his bag had yet to be unpacked.  They were leaving in the morning but he still found it odd that he hadn’t unpacked at all.  Theron, for instance, had been in the castle for all of two hours and the room he had claimed was messy with hairbrushes and longbows.

Riordan himself stood in the corner of the room, his hands folded in front of him and his gaze sullen.  Alistair didn’t know him, he couldn’t know him, but he had a feeling he had something grave on his mind.

“Hello, brothers and sisters.” Riordan’s gravelly voice was a far cry from the few other Orlesian accents he had heard.  Outside of Leliana, everyone he met seemed to have a voice be at a constant whine.  He knew that mean to think but his mind went to it instinctively, which was probably part of being Fereldan.

“What’s going on?” Maeve asked.

He looked at them and inclined his head.  He looked...weary.  Alistair wondered how long he had been a Warden.  He said Duncan had been at his Joining and Duncan had been a Warden for over twenty years.  He had dark circles on his eyes and a somber turn of his mouth.  Alistair wondered if that would happen to all of them.  He probably wouldn’t find out.  He was King and kings didn’t muck around the Deep Roads.

“Did Duncan tell you about how the Archdemon is killed?”

Kierin shrugged and said, “I figure we just cut its head off.”

Riordan’s mouth twitched.

“I see that he did not get the chance.  Not even for you, Alistair?”

“Is there more to it than that?”

“Yes...the Archdemon--all Darkspawn--are empty vessels.  The Archdemon carries the corrupted soul of an Old God and when it is slain it has nowhere to go but into the nearest body.”

Alistair furrowed his brow.  He wasn’t sure what that meant.  Devyn’s eyes widened and it seemed that he had figured it out.

“Into the Grey Warden,” he said and put his hand over his mouth.

Kierin stilled and bit down on his lower lip.  He cast a look at Theron and then back at Riordan.

“What...happens to the Warden?” he asked.

“They die.”

Alistair felt his chest tighten.  Die?  He looked at the others.  He didn’t want any of them to die.  They had been through so much together that...he shook his head rapidly.

“Alistair?” Maeve asked. “Are you alright?”

He just shook his head again, this time more slowly, and stared down.  He couldn’t bring himself to speak.  Not after all this.  He didn’t want to lose any of them.  He didn’t...he looked at Devyn who still had his hand over his mouth.  He wouldn’t lose him.

“The sacrifice is traditionally made by the senior Warden,” Riordan continued, “and so it will be me.  But should I fail...the task falls to one of you.”

Alistair let his words sink in.  The senior Warden.  If Riordan failed, that was him, wasn’t it?

“I’ll do it.”

It took him a moment for the voice to register.  Usually, it was unmistakable.  Alistair turned his head slowly, feeling fear clench his heart.

“I’ll do it,” Devyn repeated. “If you fail, I’ll make the sacrifice.”

“Fine by me,” Theron said, which earned him an elbow in the side from Cassan of all people.

“Cousin, no.”

“Look, I wasn’t supposed to make it through the Joining, remember?  It can be me.”

He wasn’t meeting Alistair’s eye and that hurt more than anything.

“I appreciate your bravery but wait to make that decision until it comes to it.” He gave a strained tight smile and said, “I have not failed yet.”

He gave them no farewell but Alistair just knew that the conversation was over.  They had a lot to think over before the night was done.  Before they left for Denerim and before this Blight was over.  They all exited, faces drawn and downcast.  Everything, Alistair realized, was so real now.  They weren’t just punching shadows or dealing with werewolves and Dwarven politics.  They were facing the Blight.  They were facing the Blight and the consequences thereof.

“I don’t want to die!” Theron shouted, his voice jarring them out from whatever reveries they were in.

The others turned and looked at him.  He had his hands tangled in his hair and his eyes were wide and frantic.

“I don’t want anyone to die!” he continued, tears streaming down his face.  His chest heaved up and down and Alistair was impressed that he had worked himself into a frenzy so quickly. “I don’t want this!  I never wanted this!  It’s too...too...augh!”

With that final wail, he took off down the hallway and disappeared into the room he had been given.

“Lethallin,” Kierin called after him but he didn’t move.  He seemed preoccupied himself.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Maeve said, her voice quiet. “Zevran can...talk to him…”

He could see her motherly instincts made her want to dash after Theron and they were at odds with whatever she was thinking.  Even Cassan looked uneasy.

“Yeah,” she said slowly, drawn out.

They split up into their own rooms, all dragging their feet.  Alistair was left in the hallway with Devyn.  He saw him go slowly into the room they shared and Alistair trotted after him.

“Dev...love, wait.”

He shut the door behind him and looked at him.  Devyn slowly removed his armor, still not speaking.

“Why?” he asked. “Why did you say that to Riordan?”

Devyn loosened a gauntlet and cast his eyes down.

“Because it makes sense,” he said quietly. “Alistair, I love you and I’d do anything to stay with you--Maker’s cock, I did that at the Landsmeet.  But it’ll never last.  Politics, E--the nobility will drive us apart.  I guess I wanted to just...beat them to it.”

That made no sense.  Alistair went to him and put his arms around his waist.  Devyn turned and placed his head against his chest.

“I’ll never let them break us up,” he said. “And if they try, they’ll be reminded who’s King.”

It was a big statement, he knew, but he was fully prepared to follow through.  He was getting better at standing up for himself.  He could stand up to the Bannorn or even to Eamon.

“Really?”

“Yes.  So next time don’t be so dramatic, alright?”

Devyn laughed a bit and rubbed his nose into his chest.

“Fine, okay.”

Alistair tucked his finger under his chin and brought his face up to kiss him.

“Even if I don’t go after the Archdemon,” Devyn said, breaking their kiss, “this could be our last night together.”

Alistair nodded even though he didn’t truly want to think about it.  They shed their armor and crawled into bed.

“I don’t want to die,” Devyn said quietly, pressing his body against Alistair’s. “Not really.  I’m only eighteen.  And you…”

He took a breath in and pressed a kiss to Alistair’s jaw.  Alistair put his hands at his waist and turned his face towards him.

“I know.” It didn’t say everything he wanted to say but he didn’t seem to need to.  Devyn closed his eyes and pressed his hips against Alistair’s in want.

In the bed, it was only them.  They moved together, under the blankets until the heat between them was too intense and they kicked them off.

Afterwards, when the awkward and less romantic and flowery part of cleaning up was over, they curled up in each other’s arms.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Alistair whispered.

Devyn smiled and kissed his cheek.

“That’ll make ruling hard.”

“Oh, hush.”

Neither of them brought up the Blight.

\--

“No, no, no!”

Theron dropped to his knees and shook on the stone floor.  He hated this.  Every time he came to Redcliffe, it seemed.  He didn’t want to die.  He had joked when Devyn volunteered but he didn’t want any of the others to die either.  His hand rubbed the spot on his arm where Duncan’s blood had been those forgotten days after Ostagar.

He gripped the necklace that had been his mother’s and started praying to Mythal.  He shook and shuddered as the words came out, choked by tears.  He crawled forward and pulled his legs under his body in a kneel.  He was a mess.  He wasn’t meant to be a Warden.  It was so hard.  He was fine fighting.  Fine showing off his skill as an archer or his ability to seduce using his looks.  It was being a Warden, being faced with death, where he faltered.  He hated it.

“Theron?”

Now Zevran was going to see him like this.  Then again, he had seen him vomiting and sick.  Seen him cooing and cuddling a bear.  He hadn’t been turned off yet.

“Theron!”

He heard his feet hurry along the flagstones and arms wrap around him.

“Are you alright?”

Theron could only shake his head.

“I don’t want to die.”

“I won’t let you,” Zevran whispered. “And if anyone tried to take you, I would storm the Black City.”

Theron remembered thinking that about Alistair--Creators, had it only been a few days ago?  He hadn’t thought Zevran would say it.  He turned to him and buried his face in his shoulder.  He felt Zevran gather him into his arms and bring him onto the bed.

“You’re being a romantic,” he said quietly, taking a shaky and tear-soaked breath.

“You bring it out in me.”

He ducked his head to kiss him and Theron’s hands went to his hair.  Immediately, he fingers undid the braided parts.  Zevran’s blond hair fell down to obscure his eyes and he smiled lazily.

“What do you want?” he asked and his fingers brushed Theron’s cheekbone.

“Help me forget the Blight.”

It was selfish.  He was selfish.  But he wanted to keep his mind off of death.  At least for the night.

\--

Kierin jumped a little as he entered his chambers.  He wasn’t alone.  Someone had lit the hearth and the roaring fire glowed brightly behind the silhouette of the person who stood facing it.

“Do not worry.  ‘Tis only me.”

Somehow that didn’t comfort him.  Kierin scowled and put his sword down across a chair.

“What do you want, Morrigan?”

On this entire quest, she had never spoken more than two words to him.  Now here she was in his room.  Why?

She turned from the hearth and stood in front of him, face almost timid.

“I have an offer...I know what sacrifice that has to be made but…” she smiled softly, dangerously.  No more timidness. “It needn’t be that way.”

Kierin’s ears twitched.  One of them didn’t have to die?  Theron...maybe that would change his fate.  It would change what Garahel told him.

“What do you mean?”

“I found a spell in my mother’s grimoire,” she explained, “about how to avoid this--a ritual performed on the eve of battle.”

Kierin turned his hand out for her to continue.

“You lie with me tonight and from our union, a child will be made.  When the Archdemon is slain, its soul will transfer into the infant.”

He registered what she said and nodded slowly.  It was...almost blood magic, wasn’t it?

“Why me?”

Morrigan swept her hand away from herself and made an almost scoffing sound.

“To be frank, you were my last choice.  Theron is preoccupied, Devyn only beds men and Alistair would outright refuse.  It has to be a Warden in whom the Taint is fresh, new.”

Well, she was honest.  Kierin frowned and folded his arms.

“Deal,” he said.

Her eyebrows rose as if she wasn’t expecting that answer.  Under other circumstances, he would refuse, but he had to stop Theron from becoming the host to the Archdemon.

“Alright...I...let’s make this a night to remember, then.”

Morrigan began removing her clothes and Kierin took his armor off slowly.  It had been some time since he had been with anyone.  Morrigan took his hand and drew him to the bed.

“This will save us all?” he asked.

She nodded and kept her eyes on his chest and abdomen.  Kierin felt a blush creep up his neck.  No one looked at him like that since...ever.  She drew her nails down the segments of muscle at his stomach and a shiver went down his spine.

“Save you all.”

Morrigan pulled him on top of her and Kierin took in a ragged breath.  This wasn’t even sexual, was it?  It was a duty, a spell.  He couldn’t even make himself hard.  Morrigan’s hands carded through his cropped hair and pressed her lips to his neck.  He centered his hips and she spread her legs.  He began pushing inside her and her entire body went rigid beneath him.  Kierin backed off and sat back on his legs.  Did she feel his lack of arousal?

“What?”

Morrigan sat up and crawled away from him.

“No, no...this is all wrong.”

“What?” He felt himself get defensive.  He couldn’t be that bad.  Nothing had even happened, yet.

Morrigan got up from the bed and put her hands over her stomach.

“I’m sorry, Kierin,” she said quietly. “This cannot work.”

“Why not?” Defensiveness was replaced by anxiety.  He couldn’t guarantee Theron’s safety now.

“The ritual will not take shape...I believe I am already with child.”

“What?”

She nodded solemnly.

“I will leave,” she said after a moment’s silence. “after the battle.  I...am very sorry.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why are you leaving?”

“I always planned it,” she explained. “I have things I wish to do now that I am not under my mother’s yolk.  But I will assist you in the battle, even if I could not help here.”

Kierin shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

“But...how are you already…?”

He remembered something months and months ago.  Returning from the Circle Tower and Theron laughing his head off.  Ian leaving Morrigan’s tent.  After that as well.  His shoulders shook in anger.  Elgarn’an damn him.  If Cousland could have kept it in his trousers once, this wouldn’t be a problem.  He could perform this dark ritual and ensure their safety.  Ensure that Theron didn’t become a plaything for the Archdemon.

Morrigan put her clothes back on and ducked her head.  In the low firelight, it looked like she was sheepish.

“I will leave you...good night, Kierin.  And good luck in the coming battle.”

\--

Denerim was on fire.  The sky was dyed red and orange and everything smelled of smoke.

“Just like the purge,” Maeve whispered.

“Times one hundred,” Devyn said.

Riordan had disappeared into the city already.  He had told them to bring a small group and informed them of Darkspawn generals in the market district and the Alienage.

“The Archdemon is around Fort Drakon.”

“Oh, good, we get to go back there,” Theron said grumpily.

Cassan looked at him.  He seemed disconcerted and pissier than usual.  Kierin, meanwhile, looked distracted and distant.  Maybe he had transferred all of his salt to Theron temporarily.

“Don’t stare,” Zevran said behind them. “You have to save the day while we stay here, no?”

He smiled at them all even though his eyes were on Theron.  Theron flicked the earring he wore and smiled back.  Devyn shoved him forward.

“Kiss him, asshole.  Go on.”

Theron shot him a look but ducked down and kiss Zevran.  His arms went around him like he didn’t want to let go but the assassin finally broke it.

“Yeah, go on,” Ian said with a smirk. “We’ve got the Darkspawn pouring in, right?”

Meat barked happily from his side.  Cassan looked at the others’ faces.  Sten, Morrigan, Leliana, Oghren, Wynne, Amell--Tobias.  They were all making a stand for them at the gates.  She found herself smiling.  She turned to look at Ian who had his bow in one hand and the other on his hip.  She strode towards him and stood up on the tips of her toes to put her arms around his neck in a hug.  Ian let out a small laugh before he wrapped her up in a hug.  She felt his bow knock against her back but she ignored it.  Cassan lifted her head and looked at him.  After a moment’s pause, she kissed him.  Ian seemed startled, his lips tensed against hers, but then he softened into it and kissed her back.

“That was weird,” she said once they broke apart.

He nodded. “Yeah.  Weird.  But was it good weird or bad weird?”

Cassan patted his cheek and said, “We can figure that out later.”

She pulled herself out of his embrace but Ian caught her wrist.

“Take this,” he said, handing her something wrapped in a cloth.  He held it in one hand but she needed both to hold it.  Carefully, she removed the cloth to reveal a dinged blade.

“A sword?”

“The Cousland family blade.  I’m not gonna make good use of it but, hey, slice up some Darkspawn, alright?”

Cassan nodded and went back to the others.  She caught Devyn giving her an annoyingly cheeky grin and pinched his side.

“Don’t you say a word.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Before Cassan could think of firing a spirit bolt at him or even just pinch him once more, Maeve interrupted them.

“Focus,” she said. “We have to do this and we have to do this now.  We aren’t just a bunch of elves anymore.  We are Grey Wardens.  Cassan, you and Devyn take out the general in the Alienage.  Take some mages with you.  The rest of us will take the one in the market district.  It’s a larger area with more to cover.”

Cassan wondered why she had to give a reason for the larger group until she saw the pout on Alistair’s face.  Ah.  He was feeling a little overprotective, wasn’t he?

“We’ll meet at the gates of Fort Drakon,” she said. “Everyone got it?”

Cassan nodded.  It was just going to be her and Devyn for now.  She watched the others go into the city, towards the market district.  She turned back and saw the other members of their party waiting to attack.  She turned to him.

“You ready?”

He just cracked his knuckles and grinned.  She took that as a yes.

\--

Everything smelled of death and decay.  Cassan held her breath and fired another spirit bolt at a throng of Darkspawn.  The Alienage was cramped, even at the gates as they were, and Darkspawn were everywhere.  It was hard to see under the cover the general had put up.  It was, apparently, an emissary.  The mages from the Tower and the Alienage elves were helping as much as they could.  Even Devyn’s cousin--the cute redhead--was lending a hand.  She had already destroyed the ogre, at least, and hoped that it was the only one.  Devyn had rushed it but she had said that she wanted a chance to kill one creatively.  She had cast a crushing prison within the great brute and blew it apart, raining gore down upon them both.  Now not only did they have to deal with a Darkspawn mage and hurlock after hurlock but they had to do so covered in ogre bits.  Devyn had been less than pleased.

He swung his axe into the midsection of a hurlock, succeeding in cutting it in half.

“Keep them back!”

Cassan couldn’t fire a barb back.  She was low on mana and her fingers were too cramped from holding her staff.  She dropped it, barely hearing the clatter, and went to her waist where Ian’s sword was sashed.  She drew it and held it in both hands.  The hilt was worn and made of blue leather stamped with laurels.  She closed her hands around the hilt and steadied the blade.  She rushed towards the nearest Darkspawn and swung in a wide arc.  The blade nicked one of them in the arm but otherwise left them unharmed.

“So glad you huffed on that vial in those ruins,” Devyn said tauntingly.

“Cram it, Tabris.”

She swung again, this time connecting and slicing off a hurlock’s head.  Granted, she had been aiming for its midsection but she wasn’t going to complain.

“There’s still too many,” he said. “And I’m getting tired, aren’t you?”

Cassan nodded.  Even with her sword, the amount of Darkspawn was overwhelming.  With the emissary creating wind cover, it was even harder.  She felt a presence, suddenly, behind her and a great heat.  She turned and saw a rage demon slogging its way through the Darkspawn and towards the emissary.

“Demons?!” Devyn cried. “They can summon demons?!”

Cassan gritted her teeth and held the sword steady.  The rage demon reared back and breathed fire.  The wind dissipated and the emissary fell.  With it dead, it began attacking the other Darkspawn around it.

“The demon’s on our side?” she asked, incredulous.

She cast a look at Devyn who shrugged.

“Technically, it’s on my side.  Which is your side.”

She turned at the sound of that voice.  Castor stood against the ruined gate of the Alienage with a broad smile on his face.  Forgetting the battle, she sheathed her sword and ran towards him.

“Castor!  What are you doing here?”

He shrugged.

“Helping.”

Granted, she knew he was helping but he was kind of stealing her--their--thunder.  Still, she was exhausted and they hadn’t even reached Fort Drakon yet.  Cassan turned and went to retrieve her staff.

“Stay here,” she told him.  The Darkspawn were less of a problem now but...she was worried. “Help Devyn’s cousin keep this place safe, alright?”

Castor seemed to catch the worry in her voice and nodded.  He held his arms out and she went into them for a hug.  Cassan held him, unable to remember the last time she and her brother had embraced.

“Shianni!” Devyn called. “Talk to Castor.  Keep the Darkspawn back and don’t touch his demons!”

“Got it!” she called back from somewhere behind them.

She and Devyn ran past the Darkspawn and across the bridge.  She turned back to see the rage demon waving at her.  Somehow, it comforted her.

\--

“I could go a lifetime without seeing another ogre,” Alistair said.

“Don’t say it,” Kierin growled, “now we’re going to see more ogres.”

Theron shrugged and walked forward.  The four of them were nearly to the palace district now.  Fort Drakon wouldn’t be far.

“Don’t be so pessimistic, Kee.  I’m sure--” He was cut off by the ground rumbling.

An ogre came careening around the corner.

“See?!” Kierin cried. “Every time.  Elgar’nan’s ASS!”

“What was that about speaking of the All-father in such a way?” Theron teased.

“Not now, lethallin!”

Maeve looked at the three of them and wondered if she could have rethought bringing them with her.  Not that there was time to dwell on it.  There was the more immediate danger of the ogre.  She stared it down and raised her shield.  She raced at the ogre and onto its arm as it reached down towards them.  She knocked it in the face with her shield and slashed at its eyes with her sword.

“So is this just a family thing, or…?” Alistair asked.

“Just kill it!” she shouted.

Theron notched an arrow and let it fly right into the beast’s throat.  The ogre roared in agony and Maeve drove her sword into the back of its head.  As it fell, she leapt off and landed on the ground in a crouch, her sword and shield still raised.

“Let’s go,” she said as she rose to her feet.

“And hopefully, no more--”

“Shut up, Alistair!”

\--

Riordan saw the Archdemon swoop above them.  He squinted at the soot-streaked sky and scowled.  He could end it now.  He truly could.  He felt his legs tremble only slightly.  The shingles on the roof shook beneath him and he took a deep breath to center himself.  He eased his daggers into his hands.  The Archdemon flew by and Riordan began running.  He dashed across the rooftop and lunged at it, daggers drawn.  He sank them deep into the beast’s back and straddled it.

“Just like a horse,” he muttered under his breath.

The dragon bucked beneath him, roaring and howling as the knives plunged deeper.  Riordan clutched the handles tightly and gritted his teeth.  He just had to lift it up and get closer, to the beast’s head.  Riordan lifted the knife slightly just as the Archdemon jerked.  He slipped and the dagger came out into his hand.  Black blood dripped from the blade and oozed out of the wound.  Riordan held tight to the other dagger and scrambled to get his balance once more.  He felt the other hand begin to slip and he clenched his jaw.  With great effort, he brought his other arm up and drove it in.  It cut into the membrane of the wing.

The Archdemon roared in anguish and thrashed more wildly.  Riordan’s hand slipped and he grabbed onto the dagger in the wing with both hands.  The blade cut through the membrane as though it were butter and he knew it was too late.  He let go of the grip and let himself fall.  He knew it would end somehow but he had hoped it wouldn’t be like this.  He had hoped to spare those new Wardens from making a choice, a sacrifice.  The sacrifice that was a part of being a Warden.  He was sentimental, wanting to spare them but then he always had been.  He thought of Camille back in Jader and put his hand over his heart.

“In war, victory,” he murmured, “in peace, vigilance.  In death...sacrifice.”

\--

Fort Drakon.  That was where they met the Archdemon.  The thing was massive, bigger than they could have ever believed.  A great purple and black dragon covered in bumpy scales and with a shredded wing that made it hop about in a way that in other situations would have been comical.

“I think we’ve weakened it,” Cassan said.

“Also, I think it goes without saying but I’m pretty sure Riordan’s dead,” Theron added.

The Archdemon had put up a fight.  A bad fight.  It had been weakened but had fight.  So they fought.  Their troops fought.  It had been a blur to Devyn as they had fought their way through the fort, to the Archdemon.  Now it flagged before them.

“So...what now?” Alistair asked. “I’m...the senior Warden.”

Maeve shook her head. “You’re to be King.  It’ll be me.  I’m the oldest.”

Devyn remembered what he had said.  He didn’t really want to die but he was prepared to.  Maybe it was what he was meant to do.  Maybe that was why he actually made it through the Joining.  He reached for his axe.

“No!”

His hand faltered.  The cry had come from Kierin.  To their left, Theron was walking forward, slowly, as though in a trance.  His mouth was slack and his eyes were focused on the Archdemon.  Kierin rushed towards him and locked both arms around his center.

“Lethallin, no!”

“What is going on?” Cassan asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Kierin struggled to keep his hold on Theron.

“The Archdemon put a thrall on him.  If he kills it, it’ll use him as a host.  Garahel told me in my dreams!”

“Oh, is that all?” Alistair asked, chuckling weakly.

“And you didn’t tell us?” Maeve asked as she ignored him.

Kierin let out a grunt of exertion to try and hold him.

“I don’t know!”

“Why do you have so many secrets?” Cassan asked.

“I don’t know!”

Theron broke free and made his way towards the Archdemon.  He drew one of the knives from his wrist sheath and drove it deep into the dragon’s skull.

“No!” Kierin cried, rushing towards him.

Light burst from the where the dagger went in and a thrust of energy knocked Devyn down onto his backside.  He rubbed it, wondering exactly what was happening.  He vaguely put together what Kierin said but if what he said was what was happening, they were back at square one and would have to kill Theron.

The brightness grew and he had to close his eyes.  It engulfed everything, it felt.  Theron, the Archdemon, all of them, and the entire tower.  Devyn could feel it hot against his eyes even with them closed.  He feared what he would see when he opened them.

\--

Theron felt the Archdemon seeping into his mind, wrapping itself around his body.  He tried to crawl out but it held him tightly.  Where was he crawling anyway?  He was trapped in this darkness, forever.  It had been planning this all along.  His dreams.  He could hear the whispers now.  Theron clawed at the shadows that held him but a scaly tail wrapped around one of his wrists and yanked it back.

He struggled against it even though part of him knew it was to no avail.  This was his fate, his destiny.  It was in his blood, wasn’t it?

Theron stopped his thrashing and the darkness swept over him.  It was hot, cloying.  Like a blanket that was held over his face.  It held him down, stuck its tongue down his throat, this darkness did.  Oppressive shadows creeping into every part of him.  He growled and let out a scream.  The shadows retreated for a moment before swarming back over him.

A face appeared in his mind’s eye.  A narrow face with high cheekbones and amber skin.  A swoop of a black tattoo on the crest of a cheekbone and long hair.  Zevran.  He wouldn’t see him again, would he?  He saw another face.  Broader and paler with short blond hair and a sour expression.  Kierin.  His best friend.  Another face: this one pale with almond-shaped purple eyes and pinkish scars.  Devyn.  A woman’s face: brown and freckled with curly hair.  Maeve.  A scowling girl with blue eyes and black hair.  Cassan.  A human face with messy blond hair and scruff at his chin.  Alistair.  More faces.  A handsome, smiling face with cropped blond hair.  Tamlen.  Wide eyes staring out from short dark hair and a trembling mouth.  Merrill.  Kind and warm and lined by the sun.  Ashalle.

Not just faces now.  Leliana smiling as he handed her the nug.  Ian’s face tipping back and his eyelids fluttering as he came.  Sten’s mouth set in a thin line as he made Kierin and Devyn duel one another.  Meat barking excitedly at the campfire.  He and Zevran riding the bear.  Memories and recognition flashing through his mind.  Theron thrashed against the shadows and they retreated.  He kept the faces in his mind, the memories.  He and Devyn escaping Fort Drakon.  Alistair giving him water in the werewolves’ lair.  Kierin crying to him in the Deep Roads.  He gathered up that power and threw it at the shadows.  They recoiled.  The scaly tail was back and he could hear the flapping of wings but he refused to falter.  He wasn’t going to be weak.  He wasn’t weak little Theron, getting sick and passing out in the woods.  He wasn’t shocked and scared in Redcliffe.  He snarled.  He was going to push this back.  He would not be this thing’s plaything.

The shadows retreated from the force of what he felt.  Theron dropped to his knees but didn’t stop pushing.  Hot air blew around him, not the heat of the shadows but it smelled like burning wood.

“Theron?”

He opened his eyes to see faces again.  Not memories, real faces.  His fellow Wardens were around him in a circle, looking down at him.

“What?”

“You killed the Archdemon,” Cassan said and then frowned. “Is it possessing you?”

He put a hand to his head and sat up. “I don’t...think so.  It tried to but…”

“But?” Kierin implored.

He looked around at them and blinked his eyes slowly, uneasily.

“I thought of all of you and it pushed it back.  I broke away.”

Devyn curled a lip and said, “Are you telling me that the power of friendship ended the Blight?”

Cassan made a gagging sound and pointed her finger down her throat.

“It all worked out!” Kierin said excitedly and wrapped his arms around him.

Maeve shook her head.

“You still aren’t off the hook for not telling us about your dreams, Kierin.”

His face fell.  Alistair hadn’t spoken and, for some reason, he was staring at Theron’s face.

“What?”

“Your...eyes.”

The others turned and looked and made similarly surprised expressions.  Theron reached into the pouch at his waist where he kept his small looking glass.

“Are we supposed to be surprised he keeps a mirror with him?” Cassan asked, rolling her eyes.

Theron ignored her and looked into it.  At first, he saw nothing.  His eyes were the same green they always were.  Then he froze.  The whites of his eyes were now black.  A remnant, perhaps, of shaking off the Archdemon’s influence.

“Lethallin?” Kierin asked.

He touched the skin around his eyes.  Used his forefinger and thumb to pull the lids back.  Black all the way around.

“I think this makes me even more attractive,” he said finally.

Kierin sighed and rolled his eyes upwards.  Maeve shook her head.

“At least we know he’s definitely not being possessed.”

\--

Despite the destruction, all of the Bannorn showed up for the coronation.  Devyn looked out over the crowd and tugged at the sleeves of his shirt.  He supposed that he could now tell Maeve that he actually did have another occasion to wear his wedding trousers.  He stood next to Alistair who wore a purple and gold tunic.

“Everyone is looking at us,” he said. “At you.”

Alistair smiled and shrugged. “I’m glad.”

He took him around the waist and, in front of the entire Bannorn, kissed him.  He didn’t know if they gasped but he pretended that they did.

“That’s a good start,” Alistair said and leaned down to nuzzle his nose. “Royal-consort.”

Devyn smiled at his official title.  He looked out at the crowd where his father and cousins were smiling and waving.  He leaned into Alistair and felt his arm slip around his waist.

“We’ve come far, haven’t we?” he asked. “I was a kid from the Alienage about to go to prison for murder.”

“I was…” Alistair laughed and said, “a mess.  Now I’m a mess with a crown.”

He snorted and looked over the faces of the gathered nobles.  None of them looked particularly happy to see him up there and he just smiled wide and waved.

Alistair bucked him with his hip and brought his hand down.

“Oh, stop.”

“Never.”

\--

Ashalle pushed his cheeks between her hands and kissed his face all over.

“Da’assan, da’assan,” she cried.

She didn’t even seem to mind his eyes.  Kierin hung back, rubbing his arms awkwardly.  He was waiting his turn.  Ashalle momentarily stopped her assault and he reached over and took Zevran’s arm.

“This is Zevran,” he said, “he’s special to me.  We’re going to Antiva.”

Zevran smiled charmingly and held his hand out.  Ashalle looked him up and down for a moment.

“I see.” She smiled softly. “I’m happy for you, da’assan.”

“And you.”

She turned and wrapped Kierin up in her arms.  He froze and then hugged her back.  Ashalle held her arm back out for Theron and drew him in.  Zevran chuckled into his hand and Theron made a face at him.

“Both of you,” she cried. “I have missed you dearly.”

Ashalle kissed Kierin’s cheek.

“Are you going with them, little nose?”

Kierin looked at him and then at Zevran.

“I think so,” he said.

Theron smiled and reached out to ruffle his hair.  He was glad that Kierin had grown it out a little and hoped that he would keep it.

“Antiva is great fun,” Zevran said.  He drew Theron away and linked his arm in his. “Well, as much fun as taking out assassins can be but, hey, the fish stew is second to none.”

Theron smirked a bit.  Going to Antiva with his lover and his best friend.  He had ended the Blight and he had a new look...that was a result of near possession.  He had overcome his weakness and helped saved Ferelden.  Those shemlen would owe him big time.

\--

Cassan folded her arms.

“Seriously?”

Ian grinned and looped an arm around her shoulders.

“Seriously.  I asked that cadaver of a First Enchanter, too.  When you help end the Blight, you get perks.”

She elbowed him.  She hadn’t been expecting perks like that.  But, then again, no one had expected Ian’s brother to be alive either.  He had come to him, yelled “Pup!” and wrapped him up in a hug.  Cassan hadn’t believe Ian when he said he was the runt of his family but his brother was somehow even bigger than him.  Apparently the reunion had put him in a family mood and Ian had convinced Irving to allow Castor accompany them both to Highever.

“It’ll be great!” he enthused. “One big family!”

Castor grabbed both of them and pulled them in for a hug.  Cassan glowered at him.

“You little shit,” she whispered.

“Can’t lose my competition,” he said, smiling broadly.

Cassan wriggled out of his grasp and smoothed her hands down her robes.

“Has anyone seen Morrigan?”

Ian shook his head and said, “She took off after we secured the gates.”

She sighed.  She never did get to tell her how she felt and now she never would.  Maybe, just maybe, she should let herself get over her.  Find a girl she could love as much as the weird quasi-romantic, mostly platonic love she felt for Ian.  Maybe she could find that in Highever or Maeve would recruit some cute Wardens or she could bug Devyn about his one cousin.  The possibilities, she was realizing, were endless.

“At least now that you’re not as much of an asshole,” Castor whispered.

Cassan elbowed him in the side.

“No using blood magic to read my mind!”

“I didn’t!  It’s a twin thing--I swear!”

\--

Maeve adjusted her Grey Warden armor.  She was now Warden Commander of Ferelden.  That was...surprising, but not entirely so.  There were six Grey Wardens in Ferelden.  Alistair was King and Devyn was staying with him.  Theron and Kierin were going to Antiva.  Cassan was going to Highever with Ian.  That left her.  Nelaros kissed her gently and told her he was proud.  She didn’t know what this meant for their marriage.  She had tried to ignore it throughout the Blight but there it was.  And, predictably, Nelaros had agreed to be supportive through her Warden duties.  She didn’t know what that meant or if he was avoiding it but so much was going on that she couldn’t think about it.

Everything was changing and everyone was leaving but somehow she felt that they would come together again.  Like it or not, they had come to trust one another over the Blight.  They were family.  A weird, dysfunctional family of elves (and one human).  She knew that this wasn’t the end.

 


	22. Epilogue

It had been a year.  She knew this almost immediately.  The man who did her favor--he and his surly brother--looked more battle-worn.  Less like farm boys.  She flew from the Free Marches, from Kirkwall and Sundermount.  She was not going to head for her home in the Wilds nor the castle in Highever where her infant grandson slumbered.  No, her goal was of another sort.  One that had little to do with Flemeth and everything to do with the wisp that resided within her.

Flying as a dragon, the trip to the palace was not far.  Before she reached the city, she became a bird, smaller and not likely to draw attention.  Even this late at night, there would be questions if a High Dragon flew in to the capital.  As a crow, she flapped her way to the window and peered into the darkened room.

It was a warm night, warm for even summer in northern Ferelden.  The blankets on the bed were half pulled down.  Despite this, the hearth burned low in the corner, sending dim, orange light into the chamber.  She could see the outline of the King.  Another indication of the passage of a year.  He had grown heavier.  All over but particularly in the middle.  He was not who she sought.  She fluttered into the room and transformed in the middle of the floor.  The King would not awaken but his lover, the light sleeper, would.

The moment her claws became boots and tapped on the stone floor, he stirred in the King’s arms and then awoke.  He sat up and stared at her.  It was a curious stare but not one of surprise.  She knew that she had found him.  Had he been the boy, he would wonder why she was alive.

“You found me,” he said.  He pushed the blankets back and put his feet on the floor.

She smiled and folded her arms.  The tip of her gauntlet brushed her arm.  It felt good to be in her true armor again and not the rags she wore in the Wilds.  No more hiding, as it were.

“You hid from me, All-father,” she replied.

He smiled and ran a hand through his messy hair.

“I hid from no one, ma vhenan,” he said, “You found your vessel.  Assimilated.  Became one.  I took longer and longer.  Until I found him.  This child--of the People--so full of anger and vengeance for what those guards did to his mother.  Without knowing, he called out to me.”

She nodded in understanding.  Yes, that call--the pull.  She had felt it as well.

“I almost did not recognize you,” she said, “in the Wilds.  It wasn’t until later when I healed you.  I felt your presence.”

He nodded and rose from the bed.  Passing her, he crossed to the window and looked out.

“You gave the boy his strength,” she continued.

“I did more than that.” He gestured to the scars on his face. “I made sure these didn’t heal worse than they did.”

“And his sensitivity to the sun?” she asked teasingly. “But you always hated your father.”

He made a face as he turned back around.

“I took the Taint away from him,” he continued.  He held his hand up and clenched his fist. “He thinks the Darkspawn dreams faded only because the Blight is over.  When the time comes, I do not want to be falling apart from the Blight.”

At the last sentence, she raised her brows.

“You referred to yourselves as one, ma vhenan.”

“Did I?” He raised his brows back in return.  She did not know if he was mocking her.

That was how it began.  The boy still did not know his higher purpose.  The soul that slumbered within him.  Soon, she would be unable to speak to him as she did now.  The All-father and not the short-tempered boy from the Alienage.  They would be too intertwined.  As she was.

“You’ve done well for yourself--Royal Consort.”

“His doing.  He is determined, stubborn.  It is why I like him.  Why I found him.” He glanced back at the King where he slept and smiled fondly.  Despite herself, jealousy flared.  Foolish. “The others?”

“I do not know.”

He nodded slowly and glanced at her.

“Understood.”

It was with that word that she knew their conversation was over.  She had made contact.  She would come get him later.  It was far from time yet.

“Another time.”

He turned his hand out gently.  She turned and resumed the form of a bird.  Hopping up on the sill of the stone window, she turned herself around.

“Love?” The King had awoken, found his bed empty.

He turned and pressed his hand to the side of his head.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing in the middle of the room?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

He glanced back at her and frowned.

“I’m...not sure exactly.”

No, their assimilation was not complete.  She turned and flew into the night.  She hoped that when next she found him that it would be.  When the time came, the People would need him.  Would need Elgar’nan.

 


End file.
